The first confirmation didn't come as an announcement.
It came as a delay.
Messengers who should have returned before noon did not come back. Routes that usually had constant movement grew far too quiet. Incomplete reports began to pile up, each one bringing small inconsistencies that, on their own, could be ignored, but together formed an unsettling pattern.
"The timing is wrong," Elara said as she compared recent notes with old maps.
"Wrong how?" I asked.
"Movements too small to be random," she replied. "And too organized to be coincidence."
Vespera rested her elbow on the table. "So he's begun."
Liriel said nothing. She only closed her eyes for a moment, as if listening to something we couldn't hear.
Not long after, the first messenger arrived. Wounded, exhausted, but alive. He went straight to the point.
"The outer fortresses have fallen," he said. "Not all of them. But enough to open a passage."
The hall fell silent.
"How many?" someone asked.
"We don't know," the messenger replied. "He doesn't lead from the center. He advances in layers."
That confirmed the worst scenario.
The Sixth General wasn't just moving. He was testing responses, forcing mistakes, slowly draining resources.
"The advance is slow on purpose," I murmured.
Elara nodded. "He wants us to react badly."
Meetings followed one another rapidly. Humans and elves debated positions, priorities, containment points. No decision seemed sufficient. No route felt safe enough.
Vespera moved closer to me as the debate dragged on. "This isn't open war yet."
"No," I replied. "It's preparation for something worse."
Liriel finally spoke. "He knows we're united."
"Then why not attack directly?" someone questioned.
"Because he doesn't need to," she answered. "He wants to wear us down first."
The following hours were consumed by emergency adjustments. Troops were relocated. Patrols reinforced. Messages sent to more distant regions. Every order came with the feeling that we were still one step behind.
By late afternoon, we went out to inspect one of the affected areas. The scene was too clear. Structures damaged with surgical precision. No unnecessary looting. No gratuitous cruelty.
"This is calculation," Vespera said.
"It's control," Elara added.
Liriel studied the area with extreme focus. "He's inviting us to advance."
"A trap?" I asked.
"A test," she replied. "To see who leads when the pressure increases."
The return to camp was silent. The tension was no longer just anticipation. It was certainty.
That night, new reports arrived. Evacuated cities. Abandoned villages. Lesser creatures appearing at strategic points, not to win, but to observe reactions.
"He's learning from us," Elara said.
"And we're learning from him," I replied.
"More slowly than we should," Vespera commented.
We gathered the group again. There were no inspiring speeches. Just alignment.
"He'll force us to choose where to fight," I said. "And when."
"So we choose not to react impulsively," Elara replied.
Liriel crossed her arms. "And we accept smaller losses to avoid a greater one."
Vespera smiled without humor. "The kind of choice no one wants to make."
Before sleeping, I walked alone to the edge of the camp. I looked into the darkness beyond the torches. For the first time, I felt the enemy's presence without seeing him. Not as fear, but as constant pressure.
The Sixth General wasn't rushing.
He was directing.
And that made everything more dangerous.
When I returned, Liriel was waiting for me.
"He's close," she said.
"I know."
"Not physically," she added. "But strategically."
I nodded.
That night, there was no silence.
There was contained movement, heavy decisions, and the absolute certainty that the next step would no longer be ours to choose.
The Sixth General had moved.
And now, the entire world felt it.