Prologue***

To Commander Vadas, the wind didn't howl. It whispered the names of the dead, a chorus of ghosts swelling with each fallen soldier. Under the dying embers of Solus’ Tower, a tempest of defiance and ruin raged. Miergart's indigo legion, their blades etched with elemenium's malice, clashed against the emerald-cloaked warriors of Kreginnia.

Lightning shattered Kregan shields of ice with bone-jarring thunder. The air reeked of copper, a metallic tang of blood and scorched flesh – a dying world choking on its own ashes.

Beneath Vadas' boots, the ground pulsed like a dying heart, echoing the frantic rhythm within him. War-cries pierced the chaos, a shrieking chorus against the desperate whimpers of men and his own strangled prayers. By his side, Empress Inaya stood, her icy face an impenetrable mask over the gore-soaked field. No fear, no pity, no flicker of worry marred her perfect features. He envied her strength, yet loathed her heartlessness. Either the woman had a heart of stone, or a power so vast it had eroded her humanity over eons. He couldn't decide which was worse.

"Empress," Vadas rasped finally, his voice barely a whisper over the din. "The Kregan resistance is fiercer than anticipated. Their… resilience is… troublesome."

A subtle tilt of her head was her only reply. The silence roared in his ears, filled with the echoes of fallen kin. Sweat beaded on his temple, a hot sting against the cold dread coiling in his belly.

End this. He wanted to plead.

This slaughter, this madness! But the words choked in his throat. Every bone in his body screamed to follow orders, for defiance meant facing her icy fury, a fate worse than any battlefield.

"Time dwindles… Commander." Her voice, a silken blade. Vadas' heart hammered against his ribs.

"Adapt…" She paused, letting the word hang heavy like an executioner's axe, "...or be swept aside."

His gaze swept across the battlefield, Kregan warriors a blur of emerald against the ash-choked earth. Lightning clawed at them, the air thick with the acrid tang of singed hair and scorched leather. Yet the defenders roared back, a primal defiance echoing across the carnage. An Earth missile shattered a shield, but the Kregan behind it only snarled, raising his spear with blood-slick hands.

They should be broken, kneeling in defeat! Why? Why? The words hammered in Vadas’ skull, but no answer came. He bellowed orders, his voice cracking, urging his troops to fight harder. Elemenium cannons roared, violet bolts carving trenches into the Kregan lines. His shoulders lifted, but then slumped as the Kregan war cry tore across the field. They regrouped, closed ranks, their spirit an unyielding wall against his desperation.

Impassive, the empress surveyed the battlefield. The Miers forces faltered, their attacks blunted by the Kregan resistance. Commander Vadas clenched his jaw, straining for an advantage, but the enemy lines held strong. Patience, long forgotten, lay dormant in the recesses of her memory.

A single, commanding gesture from her, and the battlefield fell quiet. Every eye turned to the volcanic platform where the Empress sat.

"Commander..." Her voice was a shard of ice scraping against his skin. "Your progress… disappointing." Each word cut deeper than any sword. His knees buckled under the weight of her displeasure. The guards descended, their grip the cold touch of an executioner.

"Empress, please! We can break them!" His voice broke, a desperate whimper lost in the battle's din. The word 'please' ripped from Vadas' throat. "Anything but this! Please..." The Earth cannon swiveled, its monstrous mouth aimed at him. He thrashed, animal terror burning away what remained of his pride.

A flick of her wrist, and his scream was swallowed by the cannon's roar. He was thrown back, landing with a sickening crunch of bone, his spirit shattered.

Through the waves of agony, he clung to her eyes – searching for a sliver of pity, of understanding. Instead, there was nothing but a chilling void. He wasn't even a person to her. A failed tool, discarded.

Empress Inaya turned towards Arguilla, her Friedenguard. "Deal with this…" she sighed, the word barely a breath. "I require a moment's respite."

Arguilla, a specter clad in midnight blue, bowed her head. She escorted the Empress to her heavily guarded carriage, ensuring her safety before turning her gaze back to the battlefield. Then, with a phantom's grace, she vanished into the heart of the chaos, a whisper of death.

Though his body craved rest, Fechtis' mind raced. He surveyed the battlefield; broken bodies of his Kregan allies and scorched earth. Fechtis knelt, picking up a fallen wildflower, its vibrant petals now stained crimson. He crushed it, extinguishing its fragile life in his fist. He remembered the fertile fields of his village, his house built by friends and his wife… they were just newlyweds. All gone, consumed by the flames of war. What was it all for, he wondered, this endless cycle of violence and death?

But as he watched their commander fight with the ferocity of a cornered lion, Fechtis felt a surge of admiration and renewed purpose course through him – he would not yield, not while such courage still burned on the battlefield. Around him, other Kregan warriors straightened, their weariness momentarily forgotten. Eyes fixed on their commander, they took up the ancient chant:

“From Kreginnia's soil we rise, to Kreginnia's soil we fall, but Kreginnia will never die!”

For a fleeting moment, Fechtis dared to believe. But then, a hush fell, colder than the wind whistling over the corpses. And she was there – the Friedenguard. Her target: the Kregan commander, a towering bastion of muscle and fury wielding a spear wreathed in Fire. A Miers soldier lunged, sword raised, but the commander's spear struck with blinding speed, shattering the shield and sending the soldier sprawling. Before others could react, the Kregan pivoted, his spear butt crashing into the jaw of an approaching Imperial. Bone snapped with a sickening crack.

Yet, Arguilla weaved through his guards like water, each man tumbling in her wake. Their blows clumsy against her flowing grace. She danced around the commander, his spear thrusts finding only empty air. Then, with a shift too swift to follow, she was past his guard.

A flicker of movement, then crimson bloomed across the Kregan's armor. Again, and again, her strikes found their mark with lethal precision. His wounds sapped his strength as his roar bled into a choking gasp. A final, precise jab, and the commander crumpled, his spear falling with a hollow thud.

Only then did the stillness settle. Her weapon, a tiny knife… coated in mud.

Silence descended upon the battlefield, punctuated only by the gasps of stunned soldiers. A young Kregan warrior gaped at his fallen leader. His eyes, wide as plates, darted from the commander's unmoving form to the woman who felled him. His hand trembled as it reached for the hilt of his sword.

Around him, seasoned Kregan warriors, raised in triumph moments ago, now drooped like wilted flowers. They lowered their weapons for the first time. Miers soldiers' cheers rose in a ragged wave, a harsh contrast to the stunned silence gripping the Kregan ranks.

How, they muttered, their voices, once bold, now held whispers, could such a simple weapon, wielded by a seemingly ordinary woman, fell a warrior clad in elemenium armor? The answer hung heavy in the Waning Light – Arguilla, the Empress' silent guardian, had turned the tide of the battle with a single, deadly strike. The Kregan army, leaderless and demoralized, crumbled. The cheers of the Miers soldiers echoed across the battlefield, a victory song for their unexpected triumph. Yet, amidst the celebration, an unsettling question lingered – what other secrets did the Empress and her enigmatic Friedenguard hold? The answer, it seemed, waited to be unraveled, shrouded in the swirling mists of Craiddhol.