"My Lord!"
"My Lord!!"
A Templar Knight, his white cloak stained with the dust of travel, broke through the advancing ranks of armored minotaurs. His voice cut through the march like a blade, desperate and urgent.
With heavy breaths, he approached Asher, who was in the midst of discussing troop formations with Kaelor and the other Wild Horn commanders.
By the time Asher turned, the knight had already knelt before him, hammer grounded in the soil as protocol demanded. Yet his eyes told a different story, haunted, troubled.
"What is it?" Omar asked sharply, already sensing something was wrong. His hand instinctively drifted toward the hilt of his weapon as murmurs stirred the minotaurs at the front.
Then the sounds reached them, gasps, startled voices, the dull thud of feet halting in disbelief.
