The bells had not stopped ringing. Even as dawn broke, their toll echoed through the capital's stone corridors, a reminder that peace had shattered overnight.
Kael stood among the recruits, armor scarred from battles past, the weight of survival pressing on his shoulders. Beside him, Tharos shifted it's talons scraping the cobblestones, ember eyes glowing with quiet fury. The beast's wings folded tight, feathers smoldering faintly in the cold morning air.
"Eastward," Garrick said, his voice low but unyielding. "The rebellion festers in the provinces. We march to crush it."
Kael's stomach tightened. Raiders had been one thing which is the faceless enemies on the edge of Empire lands. But rebellion meant citizens. Farmers. Villagers. Men who once bowed to the same Emperor.
Rowan's laughter cut through the silence. "Look at him," he sneered to the recruits nearby. "Parading with his beast as if he's already a general. He'll lead you to ruin."
Kael ignored him, but the whispers spread. Garrick's warning echoed in his mind: Steel cannot silence whispers. Politics will cut deeper than any blade.
The march began. Dust rose from thousands of boots, banners snapping in the wind. Villages they passed were silent, shutters closed, eyes watching from shadows. Fear lingered in the air like smoke.
By dusk, the Ember Fields stretched before them in a scorched land where rebellion banners fluttered defiantly. From the hills descended riders mounted on monstrous mantises and beetles, their war cries shrill and metallic.
Kael's heart pounded. This was no rumor. The storm had arrived.
Tharos spread his wings, fire igniting along their edges. Kael raised his sword high.
"For courage," he shouted.
"For fire that never dies."
And as the legions clashed, the legend of the LegionBreaker began to take shape.