The wind slipped through the camp's canvas, cold and dry, biting the skin despite the morning light. The sky was a pale blue, washed clean by the night—too calm for what it foretold.
Around me, the camp of the Azure Pact hummed with a restrained agitation: footsteps, muffled voices, the rhythmic clinking of weapons being checked one last time. It wasn't the chaos of an army, more the nervous breathing of a heart waiting for its signal.
I was lying on the same fallen log as before, hands crossed behind my head. I had found there a fragile balance between waiting and calm.
To my left, Sylvara—straight as a blade, her cloak fluttering gently in the wind. To my right, Reina—silent, hands clasped behind her back, eyes fixed on the valley below. Two still, solid presences — pillars. Me, in the middle, looked like a lazy man lying between two statues of command.
