Without a sound, the sky began to kill. No warnings came first.
Kael noticed the noise first - sharp, thin, like fabric pulled apart. Then silence. The man nearby lowered himself to the ground, two paces away now, maybe three. Not collapsing. Just settling into the earth as if done with standing. His gaze fixed beyond things, empty of reaction. An arrow stood from his neck. Grass near his body soaked up color, deepening fast.
One whole second passed before the east line moved at all.
After that, another round arrived.
Out of the trees by the north ridge it started, a spot Orren marked last night as dangerous, though command clearly ignored it. Not high arcs - these flew low, sharp, too level to be guesswork. Watched them already. Paced off every step. Ready long before we arrived.
Kael fell without meaning to, his legs giving way before thought caught up. The dirt met him fast, dragging Bren along by sheer weight. A voice cracked nearby - Sorin yelling - but another answered it just as quick. From behind rose a call, sharp and sudden: move forward, keep going. Madness, that word. Yet there it stood. Plan or not, nobody waited.
They advanced.
Stopping hurts more, that is why you keep going. A moving body has a purpose, while one frozen becomes marked, named prey. Low in the grass, Kael slid forward, spear tipped ahead. Arrows flew anyway. The row of fighters grew shorter. Above, the sky stayed blank - morning light, scattered clouds, watching nothing at all.
A figure collapsed in the tall grass, the first to fall close to Kael. As they moved forward, he stayed back, fading fast into what used to be. The land itself seemed to shift around his still form, shaping a changed map without pause.
That guy's name slipped his mind.
That went straight onto his mental tally of what was off here.
He kept moving.