The change was not announced loudly.
It moved quietly through Nyvoria.
Orders shifted. Guards stood straighter. Messengers moved faster than usual, their faces serious, their steps hurried. No one said the words out loud, but everyone felt it.
Nyvoria was no longer waiting.
Lunara sensed it before she was told.
She noticed it in the maps being replaced. In patrol routes stretching farther than before. In soldiers sharpening weapons meant for more than holding a line.
When the order finally reached her, it was short.
Prepare units for forward movement.
Lunara read it twice.
Forward.
That word alone carried weight.
She requested audience immediately.
Inside the command hall, Vaelis stood over a table, pointing at routes across the border. He looked alive in a way Lunara had never seen before—focused, sharp, dangerous.
"So it's true," Lunara said. "The rule is lifted."
"For now," Vaelis replied. "And not without reason."
"You know what this means," she said. "Once we attack, we don't control how this ends."
Vaelis looked at her. "We haven't controlled it for years."
Lunara turned to the map. "Then we do this cleanly. No villages. No civilians."
Vaelis nodded once. "Agreed."
That surprised her.
Outside, soldiers gathered as units were reassigned. Some were confused. Some were excited. Others looked afraid.
Nyvoria had trained generations to defend.
Now they were being asked to advance.
Across the border, Kael felt it.
Scouts reported movement that didn't match Nyvoria's old pattern. Supply lines shifted. Watchfires appeared in places they never had before.
"They're not holding," an officer said. "They're lining up."
Kael stared at the map.
"They've changed doctrine," he said quietly.
"And that's bad?" the officer asked.
Kael didn't answer right away.
"No," he finally said. "That's dangerous."
That night, as Nyvoria's forces moved under the cover of darkness, the land seemed to hold its breath.
Defense had ended.
And whatever came next would not be quiet.