DYER It is said that bad news travels faster than good news, and this time the saying proves cruelly true. Whispers of Redmoon’s fall reach us before sunrise, half-formed and sharpened by fear. Traders speak of smoke on the mountain. Scouts mutter about northern banners marching unopposed. By dawn, the camp feels quieter, as though even the ground is holding its breath.

But no one comes with certainty.

That is the worst part.

I carry the weight of it through the morning, through patrol ...