The march began before sunrise.
There was no speech. No attempt to raise morale with pretty words. Only short orders, clear signals, and the constant sound of equipment being adjusted. Humans and elves moved side by side, still with a certain stiffness, but without open resistance. Necessity had defeated pride.
I walked at the front of our group, feeling the weight of responsibility more than that of the weapon. Elara stayed close, observing formations, mentally noting every detail. Liriel followed a few steps behind, attentive to everything that could not be seen. Vespera moved along the flanks, eyes always in motion.
"This is bigger than anything we've ever done," Vespera commented quietly.
"And yet it still feels small compared to what's coming," I replied.
The road stretched long and silent. There were no immediate ambushes, no isolated attacks. The Sixth General didn't need that now. He had already achieved something more important. Movement.
Every step taken was a commitment that could not be undone.
The elves maintained precise formations, almost too rigid. The humans advanced with more variation, adapting to the terrain. At first, this created tension. Different rhythms. Different expectations.
"If this continues, you'll get in each other's way," Elara said after observing for some time.
She approached one of the human commanders and spoke directly. Shortly after, Liriel was speaking with an elven leader. Small adjustments were made. Not everyone liked them, but they worked.
"The strange thing," Vespera commented, "is that no one is complaining much."
"Because everyone knows what's at stake," I replied.
We stopped only when necessary. Water. Food. Quick checks on the wounded. Nothing beyond that. The march needed to keep a steady pace. Stopping too much meant giving the enemy time.
During one of these pauses, a messenger arrived with new information. Movements of the General to the north, small, calculated shifts.
"He's guiding us," Elara said.
"To where?" I asked.
"To where he wants to fight," Liriel answered.
That became clear as the terrain changed. Open areas gave way to narrower regions, with natural choke points. It was no coincidence.
"He knows the map better than we do," Vespera murmured.
"Or studied it enough," I replied.
By nightfall, the camp was set up quickly. No large fires. No unnecessary noise. The tension was almost palpable.
I sat with the group to review what we knew. There was no comforting news.
"When we meet real resistance, it won't be to stop us," Elara said. "It will be to measure us."
"So we don't advance with everything," Vespera replied. "We respond with control."
Liriel looked directly at me. "You know this march is already part of the battle."
"I know," I replied. "And I know every decision now carries more weight."
Later, I walked among the silent ranks. I saw fear. I saw determination. I saw people who had never fought something on that level trying to convince themselves they would survive.
Vespera appeared at my side again. "You carry this as if it were yours alone."
"Someone has to carry it," I replied.
"Not alone," she said.
When I returned to the group, Elara and Liriel were speaking in low voices. They stopped when they saw me.
"The terrain ahead favors the enemy," Elara said. "But it also limits his options."
"So it's there," I murmured.
Liriel nodded. "The second encounter will be inevitable."
I lay down that night without truly resting. The distant sound of footsteps, breathing, metal touching metal formed a steady rhythm. It wasn't chaos. It was collective preparation.
The joint march was not just movement.
It was a silent commitment between races that had never fully trusted one another.
And now they advanced together, not because they wanted to, but because there was no other choice.
When the sun rose again on the horizon, I knew.
The next step would not be just movement.
It would be confrontation.