The sun had not yet risen, only a pale silver bloom on the horizon, when the gates of Urbanatra thundered open.

  From within its stone heart came the sound of boots, of blades, of war drums.

  The entire city marched.

  At the front were the Bluehawks, moving with precision and fire. Lieutenant Marean led the formation with her tall glaive glinting, the tip already darkened by age and blood. Beside her strode Alyssa Veyr, no longer just the girl who had lost everything but now the commander of vengeance. Her dual blades were strapped tight to her back, her grapnels coiled at her hips. Her pace was sharp, head high, the weight of a people’s hope resting on her shoulders.

  Harlen Voss walked just behind her, eyes always scanning, calculating. He barely blinked, already seeing the battlefield ahead of them.

  Ketta Maren peeled off with the vanguard scouts, silent as mist, her eyes narrowed toward the hills, tracking movement before anyone else could.

  Bran Ishell lumbered with quiet menace, greatsword slung across his back. The scar over his brow made him look perpetually mid-battle, and in many ways, he always was.

  Sira Vance was a shadow trailing just behind. She had no place in the lines. She was the knife in the dark.

  Sophie Relin twirled a smoke bomb between her fingers as she talked quickly with Tane Rowell, whose fiery hair was bound back tight, one blade already drawn and gleaming. Kara Ellian and Ethan Brask walked beside them, silent and focused. Daelen Virell trailed at the rear, unreadable, pale, precise.

  Behind them thundered the Ashguard, split by division but united in resolve.

  Ashguard Alpha followed Commander Raithe Dorn, whose eyes glinted under his helm like steel beneath frost. His second, Soreya Drenn, adjusted her spear and threw a glance at Eren Valche, who walked beside her in silence, both pretending the tension between them did not burn.

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  Vaeyna Caldris, fast as smoke, kept to the outer flank, her eyes scanning. Rhyza, Kael, Adric, Argen, Kira, and Talen followed behind, seasoned and iron-bound killers.

  Ashguard Beta, under Commander Vekar Thorne, moved like a living wall. Marl, Keenya, Liam, Miklen, Daro, and Yelle followed his pace. Slower, but every step deliberate, every movement trained for endurance and crushing power.

  Ashguard Gamma, led by Commander Ilyen Varda, moved more like the Bluehawks—agile, versatile, unpredictable. Selka, Orrin, Vel, Therril, and Nima formed a deadly rhythm of steel and silence.

  Then came the Scouts, multiplied now, close to sixty in number. Dozens of light-footed trackers bolted ahead and spread across the terrain like water. Rellin Darse, Lysa Vant, Tomas Greve, Tessor Kyll, Reliah, Olivia Maren, Ysere Vane, Ren Tyvak—veterans all—led the waves, bolstered by newer eyes and sharp minds ready to intercept Rhupenshron movement before it turned into disaster.

  The Juniors, once a backup force and now a frontline unit, marched behind them under Commander Zaric Vailor, whose vertical scar caught the morning light as he scanned their ranks. Over forty strong now, they were a force of youth and raw fire.

  Gregory Houston, with his greataxe, walked near Telya Marnis, cocky and grinning with her jagged saber. Corren Dax, silent and deadly, marched alongside Jainar Els, whose voice roared above the rest with infectious pride.

  Elya Vorn kept a quiet eye on everyone, spear in hand, while Kellin Drehl held the line with his heavy flail. Leira Solt moved like wind between bodies, silent and calculating, her blades ever ready.

  And then the Cadets, over forty more. Children yesterday, warriors today. Their steps were not as synchronized, their eyes not yet hardened, but they marched. They carried real weapons now. And they carried the weight of knowing there might not be a tomorrow.

  All of them knew.

  The goal was clear: eradicate every Rhupenshron in the known region. Clear every nest, every tunnel, every hideout. Push them back from the ore mound. Slaughter them until the Mother could no longer reach the surface.

  No negotiation.

  No surrender.

  Alyssa stood at the front, blade in hand as they reached the valley rim, the first glimpse of the blackened ridges ahead. The Nestlands. Smoke rose in the distance. The Rhupenshron were already stirring.

  Her voice rang out across the host.

  “This is it. There is no one else coming. No miracle.”

  She looked over her shoulder, at every division, every cadet, every legend.

  “Today we take back our world.”

  Then, with a leap of motion and a burst of steel, she launched forward, blades gleaming. The final campaign had begun.