The sun had just begun to climb above the horizon, casting a soft, golden light across the open terrain that stretched out before Lyan's advancing forces. The southeastern border was still some distance away, but its looming presence was palpable, a reminder of the contested territory they were about to enter. The weather was mild—a rare blessing—and the gentle breeze carried with it a sense of both trepidation and determination. Every step forward was a statement, a message that Astellia would not be taken without a fight.
Alice led from the front, her figure upright and proud as she sat atop her dark chestnut horse. Her armor caught the morning sunlight, reflecting it in fleeting flashes. Her voice rang out across the line of soldiers, crisp and confident. She issued commands with the kind of authority that demanded respect, her words sharp and direct. The troops moved seamlessly, each unit in sync, their steps forming a steady rhythm that spoke of training and trust.
