CHAPTER 210: WHERE IT ALL BEGAN

Maggie had silently absorbed the orders, standing straight as a stake, her helmet tucked under her arm.

She had chosen to leave her face bare for this meeting with the count — a habit of hers, almost a small personal challenge.

She glanced at Elisa, right beside her. Her comrade seemed elsewhere, her golden eyes fixed on some invisible point, as if nothing in this room mattered.

"She must be thinking about Dylan," Maggie thought. Dylan had been the first to offer her a hint of affection and sincerity, after what her own tribe had done to her. Naturally, she had to be emotionally attached to him.

"Poor thing."

Her blonde hair had grown a lot since then... Dylan could no longer really use it as an excuse to tease her — not that he was here, of course.

Elisa felt her gaze. She turned her head slightly and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Don’t mind," murmured Maggie.

They left the tent together.

Outside, the camp was in full upheaval.

Rows of soldiers were moving crates of supplies and weapons, their boots kicking up the red dust of the ground. The Awakened were checking their weapons, some meditating in silence, others exchanging low jokes to mask the tension.

Further on, squad officers were giving brisk orders: setting defensive stakes, digging trenches, raising light beacons that would serve as night markers.

The sky, low and gray, weighed on the tents like a canvas ready to tear. The air smelled of metal, sweat, and anticipation.

Each group was preparing for its own mission — but everyone knew this land would forgive no mistake.

Maggie and Elisa, following the flow, passed a heavily saddled horse pawing impatiently, then a pile of rolled-up maps ready to be distributed.

A few meters away, Zirel was already waiting, leaning against a stake, looking as if he’d spent too long scanning the horizon.

Zirel greeted them with a simple nod, as if unwilling to break the invisible thread that tied each soldier to their own thoughts before departure.

His jaw was tight, and his fingers drummed distractedly on the stock of his weapon, a tic he had carried since the last great battle.

"You’re finally here," he said, without warmth or reproach, just to say something.

His eyes settled on Elisa, then on Maggie. "Tonar’s checking the mounts. He wants us ready to move in less than an hour."

Maggie simply nodded. Elisa just blinked briefly, as if slowly returning to earth.

Around them, the noise was intensifying: chains tightening, hooves striking the ground, the clink of weapons being adjusted.

A messenger rushed past, holding a sealed scroll.

Further on, a squad was already lining up, ready to leave the camp, black, slender silhouettes disappearing into the dust.

"Looks like they’re sending the first wave," Maggie murmured.

Zirel gave a brief, bitter smile.

"First wave... or cannon fodder."

A deep, distant detonation made the ground tremble. The three of them froze for a moment, eyes instinctively turning north, where a plume of smoke was rising on the horizon.

The front had just reminded them of its presence.

"Come on," Zirel finally said, straightening up. "We’ve got our orders. And they won’t wait for us to feel ready."

They set off, crossing the camp toward the rally point, their shadows stretching over the red earth as the rumble of war thickened in the air.

At the rally point, the last words were exchanged, almost reluctantly, as if everyone knew that once they left, those familiar faces might never be seen again.

Maps were handed out with quick gestures, folded and slipped into pockets or pouches. An officer, voice grave, went over the instructions, but already everyone’s thoughts were drifting toward the road ahead.

The strategy was simple in theory, brutal in practice: the Awakened would open the way, cutting through enemy lines like a scalpel, and behind them, the ordinary soldiers would move in to lock down every inch of conquered ground. No respite, no retreat.

The Awakened were the spearhead, the others, the closing jaws.

Tonar, firmly planted on his feet, adjusted the straps of his harness while barking sharp orders. His voice carried above the commotion, imposing a discipline almost physical.

Zirel, Maggie, and Elisa stood slightly apart, watching the other units take position.

Further on, a group of Awakened stared north with the stillness of predators. Some closed their eyes, their stigmas glowing intermittently beneath their skin, as if their bodies were already preparing to burn their essence.

A rumble passed through the air, not an explosion this time, but the heavy sound of a defensive gate closing behind them.

And then, almost without transition, the order fell:

"Let’s go!"

The groups split at once, like a network of veins spilling its blood in every direction.

Maggie took a deep breath. Elisa, without a word, tightened her grip on her spear. Zirel did what he always did before departure: he spat to the side, as if to ward off bad luck.

Within moments, the camp behind them was no more than a speck in the dust. Ahead, the red earth stretched out, ready to drink their sweat... or their blood.

Maggie walked in the oblique morning light, that yellow clarity that made weapons gleam like sharpened teeth.

The red ground crunched under her boots, but behind her, the steady pounding of five hundred footsteps made the air tremble.

It was like the heartbeat of some monstrous creature, one that existed only to swallow land and lives.

Ahead, Zirel led the march with a brisk step, his shoulders straight as a mast, his weapon slung across his back.

The Awakened formed a crescent around him, a dozen silhouettes whose very presence imposed a nervous silence on the ordinary soldiers who followed.

Each step brought them closer to the unknown, and Maggie knew that the unknown, in this kind of mission, often had a metallic taste.

From time to time, she glanced at Elisa walking to her right.

The young woman’s face was impassive, but her hands were nervously playing with the leather of her spear’s shaft.

A tic that spoke louder than words.

The landscape, open at first, began to tighten.

Small hills rose like broken vertebrae, and between them, narrow clefts where the light suffocated.

Zirel raised a hand, slowing the group. Silence fell. Even the footsteps of the soldiers behind grew quieter, instinctively.

"We’re close," he murmured.

Only two words, but Maggie felt the tension contract around them like an invisible vice.

The ground changed beneath her feet: dust gave way to dark, hard, veined rock.

Here, no bird song, no wind. Only that heavy silence that only battlefields know, a silence ready to be broken.

The Awakened spread out slightly, as if some instinctive force pushed them to occupy the space.

Their stigma (for those who bore them) vibrated softly beneath their skin, a glow you could only see if you looked for it, but one that betrayed focus and readiness.

Maggie felt hers pulse, hot and impatient.

It wasn’t war yet, but it already smelled like it.

She knew that smell: a mix of iron, dust, and cold sweat.

She thought of the soldiers behind. Five hundred. Five hundred hearts beating to fill every gap left by the Awakened, to seal every meter gained.

They had no stigma. They had no speed, no power, and little chance of surviving long in the open.

But they moved forward anyway.

"How respectable."

"And maybe that’s it," she thought, "maybe that’s what keeps this war turning: not the weapons, not the essence, but this stubborn march of those who know they won’t come back... and go anyway."

A brief cry split the air. Not a human cry.

The kind of sound that cuts through flesh like a blade.

Zirel drew his weapon in the same motion, and Maggie felt her world tilt.

Heads lifted almost in unison, as if the cry had pulled an invisible string connecting every neck.

The Awakened froze for a heartbeat, their eyes sweeping the ridges of the hills, every shadow becoming a possible gaping maw.

A second howl, closer this time.

Maggie felt the hairs on her neck rise. It wasn’t just the threat it carried... it was the echo. As if several beasts were answering the call.

Elisa turned her head slightly, her golden eyes lighting with a glow Maggie recognized: the cold excitement before a fight.

She planted her spear into the ground with a sharp sound, as if to signal the wait was over.

Zirel made a quick sign with his left hand. The Awakened slid into position with that inhuman ease that makes it seem like they never had to learn to kill.

Behind, the officers barked orders at the ordinary soldiers, deploying them into a line, shields forward.

Maggie inhaled slowly. Her stigma vibrated like a bell ready to shatter.

She knew that in less than a minute, the hills would stop being scenery. They would become traps.

The clefts, jaws.

And this silence... just the void before the bite.

A shadow leapt onto the top of a rocky spur. Huge, all angles and claws, its eyes burning with raw hatred.

Time contracted — Maggie felt as if she could see every grain of dust swirling around her.

Then, as if the sky itself shattered, the first beast jumped.