Night breathed cold across the forest, its chill threading through the mist and clinging to the scorched branches like damp silk. Vaelira walked among the dying fires, her steps light but deliberate, every heel-press sinking softly into the spongy moss. With each stride, loose embers crackled beneath her greaves, popping like tiny stars before winking out in the gloom. Smoke curled around her legs, slipped beneath the flared edges of her leaf-steel plates, then drifted upward to stain the silver in bruised streaks of soot.
"Gather the wounded. Burn the corrupted bodies. Double the perimeter watch."
Her voice slid through the smoky darkness—soft, contained, but edged with an iron that brooked no argument. The order fell on her soldiers like a familiar mantle; they straightened, almost grateful for something clear to hold on to. They moved out, weary shadows in battered mail, the clink of dented links barely louder than the low whistle of wind through fractured boughs.
