The smoke billowed higher, coiling like a living serpent across the field. Its tendrils slithered past boots and helmets, blurring visibility to nothing more than silhouettes and vague outlines. The knights surrounding the training ground were growing restless, murmurs and low shouts cutting through the haze like blades. Hands drifted toward swords, fingers twitched on hilts, and tension sparked like dry leaves in flame.
Before things could spiral, General Haris stepped forward.
"Fotis. Elios," he said firmly, his voice calm but laced with urgency. "Calm them. Now."
The other two generals didn't need to be told twice. General Fotis turned at once, his crimson cape flicking behind him, and began to move among the east flank of the gathered soldiers. General Elios did the same, his towering frame moving more like a boulder than a man, yet each word he spoke—short, confident, commanding—seemed to slice through the mounting panic.
