The Vesperia Valley no longer knew the color green; only the ashen gray and scorched black of fire's aftermath stretched across the horizon, dust from the city's ruins choking the sky. Among the smoking rubble, the remnants of Zylos's troops pulled back in eerie silence. Orders from central command had come down, retreat, fall back to the original line, regroup at General Kaelen's scouting camp on the southeastern border.
Their withdrawal was swift and disciplined, boots pounding the dry earth in hurried rhythm as they threaded through the narrow gorge carved into chalk cliffs. The captain of the Zylos soldiers glanced over his shoulder now and then, convinced shadows behind the boulders were breathing. His skin prickled, every hair standing on end. He couldn't steady himself, couldn't calm the storm inside. Panic clawed at him, but he forced his jaw shut, trying to keep the men focused.
