It was dawn, and the sky wore the gentle hue of lilac. Wisps of mist clung to the earth like forgotten veils, reluctant to rise. The morning dew still glistened on rooftops and cobblestones, yet the stronghold pulsed with life—its people drawn out from their hearths and homes by a singular, thunderous procession.
The citizens stood shoulder to shoulder, pressed along the ramparts, rooftops, and balconies, their breath misting in the cool air. All eyes watched the road, wide and muddy, now consumed by the march of an army the likes of which had not been seen in this age of Tenaria.
