The cold silence after battle often bore more weight than the clash of weapons. Inside the war chamber of Scarlet Ridge Fortress, Princess Zerina stood at the head of a large stone table, a massive battlefield map spread before her. Torches cast flickering shadows across the grim faces of her War Generals.
Travis stood among them now—not as a prisoner, but as an acknowledged warrior.
"Reports confirm increased tremors across the valley," General Thark growled, slamming his fist against the table. "We killed hundreds, yet they keep coming. This isn't just a siege… it's a migration."
Travis nodded, arms crossed. "You still don't get it. They're not retreating. They're coordinating."
The room fell quiet.
"Coordinating?" Zerina asked. "These beasts are driven by hunger and instinct. They don't plan. They charge."
