By the two-hour mark, commands no longer registered at all.
It wasn't the flow of orders slowing down - they kept arriving, barked by riders popping up at the fringes then vanishing, their voices tangled in horn blasts that meant one thing here, another there, shifting with every rulebook handed out. Confusion spilled from sergeants overriding lieutenants, lieutenants clashing mid-shout, a chain of command built for some other war entirely, still marching blind into this one.
Stay right where you are. Move forward on the left side instead. Fall back toward the high ground slowly. Stay put no matter what.
Later on, those commands weren't directions anymore - they hung in the air like storms. Instead came something clearer, less polished. Noise pointed to where things cracked under strain. Quiet showed where everything had already fallen apart. Into the noise you went - your team lived there. Around the quiet you stepped - stillness in combat meant an exit sealed behind someone else.
Kael blinked, and Orren was gone - just like that, during the third surge forward. The old man had been right beside him, a quiet weight at his flank. Then the formation wobbled, bodies sliding sideways, and suddenly it wasn't Orren next to him but another face, grim and unfamiliar. A heartbeat later, even that stranger vanished. He turned his head again, searching, only to find the air choked. Smoke from the flaming supply carts along the east rim rolled inward, dense and hot, building a curtain where the battlefield used to be.
A figure stepped up next to him - Sorin, dripping blood from a gash near his temple. He might have seen it. Maybe he just didn't care.
Over by the stables, someone called back.
"Behind us, I think. Twenty steps."
"Bren?"
"With me until the second push. Lost him."
Eye contact passed between them.
He needs locating," Kael stated.
Finding him," Sorin said, then vanished once more into the roar.
Ahead of Kael stood the enemy, nearer than expected. Morning reports claimed they'd be farther out - either those reports failed or movements shifted overnight. Either way, faulty knowledge brought them here. That flawed guidance came from figures now perched above on rising ground, idle in folding seats.
The cold shaft bit into his fingers. Into his skin sank the mark.
He went forward.