The next morning, a rumor began to swirl like smoke through a battlefield.
It slipped into conversations quietly at first, among street vendors arranging their wares, between soldiers on morning patrol, and within the wooden walls of crowded inns where the smell of ale lingered like a second atmosphere.
"They say the Church wants to attack now, but the Darkan wants to wait?" An old man recited the words his friend had whispered to him the night before.
The tavern was filled to capacity, yet silence blanketed the room as those words echoed.
"Yes, that's what I heard too," the friend replied, leaning closer. "They say an internal conflict has already begun."
A collective stillness followed. The mention of disunity between the two great factions sent ripples of uncertainty through the crowd. The ears of every patron sharpened. Even the tavern maid, who had been pouring ale, paused mid-pour.
