Lyan's forces moved with the silent grace of predators. The cold air of the night brushed against their skin as they slipped through the narrow cave passages, their footsteps muffled by the rocky ground beneath them. The moon was high in the sky, casting a faint glow over the hills that surrounded Hektor's stronghold. Lyan, at the head of his soldiers, kept his gaze sharp, every sense attuned to the subtle signs of movement around them. His mind, as always, was focused on the task at hand. There could be no mistakes.
The plan had been simple enough—Wilhelmina's forces would lead a frontal assault, drawing Hektor's attention while Lyan's forces moved in from the rear. They'd catch Hektor's army in a deadly pincer, crushing them between two fronts before they had a chance to react. It was a strategy Lyan had used before, but tonight the stakes were higher. Hektor, humiliated after the defeat at Grafen, was desperate. He would fight harder than ever, and desperate men were dangerous.
