by Paulo Fabricio
War does not begin with glory. It begins with men who already know they are going to die. The wind cut across the walls of Domvoro, carrying the smell of iron and burned flesh. Below, the army stood in silence—thousands of soldiers waiting, not for victory, but for the moment they would be ordered to march toward it. King Gabriel Solarius watched from above, unmoving. He had seen this before. Men ready to die. A kingdom that demanded it.
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