Chapter Sixty-Four: The Call to Arms
Caedren stood at the helm of his army, a lone figure on the ridge that overlooked the valley below. The wind tugged at his cloak, snapping the Ashen Oath's sigil in bold defiance as the dark tide of war spilled across the horizon. The land itself seemed to hold its breath, caught in the balance between defiance and annihilation.
Below him, thousands of soldiers waited in formation. Some bore the sigils of fallen houses that had rallied to his call. Others flew no banners at all, oathbound only by their loyalty to the dream he had kindled—a kingdom not ruled by crown or bloodline, but built upon a shared defiance of despair. Blacksmiths, freed serfs, outcast knights, wanderers, rebels—each had come to stand against the Serpent.
Across the field, the enemy approached like a storm cloud given form. The Serpent's legions were vast, disciplined, and terrifying. Their armor gleamed like onyx under the dull light of the cloud-choked sky. Black standards adorned with writhing silver serpents flapped above their heads. War drums pounded in steady rhythm, a heartbeat of doom that echoed through the valley.
The battle was upon them.
"Your Grace," Neris said, her boots crunching on the frostbitten grass as she approached. Her crimson cloak, streaked with dirt and blood from earlier skirmishes, billowed behind her. "We cannot wait any longer. The enemy is almost upon us. What are your orders?"
Caedren didn't turn. His eyes remained fixed on the sea of darkness rolling toward them. His fingers flexed at his sides, a subtle attempt to ease the pressure in his chest. Fear tried to rise—but it met only the iron walls of something deeper.
Not faith. Not courage.
Resolve.
He had seen too much to believe this was about glory or righteousness. He knew what war cost. He had paid that toll already in blood, in friends lost, in nights where sleep was nothing more than a battlefield of memory.
But this? This was about standing when all others knelt. About holding a line—not for kingship, not for pride, but so that something true might survive the ruin.
"Gather the commanders," Caedren said at last, his voice low but steady. "We will fight with everything we have. But we will not be reckless. This battle isn't about brute force—it's about using every advantage we can."
Neris nodded once, her expression unreadable. "We will fight smart, Your Grace. The kingdom's survival depends on it."
She turned and moved with brisk purpose, already calling for the signal horns. Caedren remained still, letting the wind wash over him. The cold sharpened his thoughts, grounding him.
He glanced to his right. There, a weathered banner fluttered atop a splintered staff. The symbol was rough—hand-painted and stitched with uneven thread—but it was unmistakable. The broken crown ringed in flame. The mark of the Ashen Oath.
He remembered the day they had first raised it in defiance of the old thrones. The way the people had gathered—not because they were promised riches, but because they were promised a voice.
That promise had brought them here.
And now, as war loomed, he would not let it falter.
Below, the camp burst into motion. Horns rang out, short and clipped—three notes rising in a descending pattern. It was the call to arms. Tents were abandoned. Swords were drawn and shields strapped tight. War mages began their chants, their voices weaving spells that shimmered faintly in the air. The scent of oil, sweat, and steel filled the wind.
Within minutes, the commanders stood before him. Some wore the burnished armor of nobility, others the piecemeal patchwork of surviving a dozen campaigns. All of them looked to Caedren.
He stepped forward.
"This is the day," he said. "Not just the day we fight, but the day we are tested—not for strength, but for spirit."
The murmurs of wind and chainmail died. Every face turned fully to him.
"The Serpent believes we will break. That we are scattered, faithless, disorganized. That without a throne, we are nothing. But they have misjudged what binds us. They do not understand that the power we hold is not in bloodlines or castles, but in memory. In conviction."
He paused, then added, more quietly, "In choice."
He looked to each commander in turn.
"I will not ask you to die for me. I will not promise that victory will be clean or swift. But I ask you this—fight as though the future can still be claimed. Fight as though what we've built means something. Fight, because there are people behind us who still believe the world can be rebuilt."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the gathered ranks. Swords were raised in silent salute. No cheers rang out—there was no need. The silence was louder.
Neris stepped to Caedren's side again. "The scouts report the Serpent's vanguard will be in striking range within the hour. They're holding their heavy cavalry back. Testing our lines first."
"Then we bait them," Caedren said. "Draw their vanguard into the northern ravine. Set the fire pits and have the archers ready with pitch. Let them think we're disorganized—and when they commit, we collapse the cliffs."
"We'll lose that flank," one commander warned.
"Only the surface," Caedren replied. "We hold the high ground. When the smoke clears, we hit their center with everything we have. That's where they're weakest."
"And the Ashend?" Neris asked quietly.
Caedren hesitated. That name still left a chill.
"We hold until Tarn and Lysa return," he said. "If the Heartstone has chosen, then they will come. Until then... we do not break."
The wind picked up, colder now. Somewhere out beyond the hills, a low horn called. The Serpent's signal.
It had begun.
Caedren turned to the field one last time, watching the first rows of dark-armored soldiers begin to form into their attack lines.
This was not the story of a prince reclaiming a throne. This was the story of the world refusing to bow.
He drew his sword—a plain thing, not gilded, not ornate. Forged in the fires of Highrest during the rebuilding, it bore the names of those lost in earlier battles etched along its spine.
He raised it high.
"For the kingdom that does not kneel!" he called.
And the army roared in answer.