The Orcish Plains were no longer silent.
They groaned.
The earth itself seemed strained beneath the combined weight of blood, shattered ice, fallen men, and the approaching mass of the First Horde. Every footstep sank into churned soil slick with crimson and frost-slush. The wind carried the stink of iron, sweat, and scorched mana...a scent that clung to the throat and refused to be swallowed.
Aliyah Winters did not look away.
She could not afford to.
Her eyes tracked the battlefield with predatory intensity, reading movement, posture, hesitation. She saw panic where others saw noise. She saw opportunity where others saw chaos.
"Signals," she snapped. "Now."
The banner in her hand lifted sharply...blue cloth snapping once before settling into its rigid command posture. Horns answered immediately, each blast layered atop the next in precise sequence, the sound bouncing off distant hills and rolling back across the plains.
*****
