Aquilax' eyes opened instantly.

The sound and tremor of rock and fire blasting against the rocky mountains shook his tent, some objects falling from their place. He managed to stop his longsword from falling from its resting pivot and immediately rushed towards the balcony.

His camp was burning, two great fires already began their devastating work as they embraced tent and flora alike with unnatural speed. The camp was alive, coming out with buckets of water and blankets in order to appease the marching blaze, some of his lieutenants were there. Geowyn and her sword sisters were already handling the situation, with the weathered woman weary of the darkness beyond Lion's Camp's hellfire, intertwining her vigilance with.

The white-haired man gripped his sword, keeping it close to his waist, his gaze traveling beyond the camp's lower perimeter.

Another ball of fire materialized out of thin air, above the woods, setting the branches and leaves next to it ablaze. Aquilax focused his sight below the raging orb and noticed a slender, feminine figure, knelt below the towering ball, her hands gripping the handle of a glowing red rod elevated above her head.

"She's here," Aquilax said, a small curse slipping from his lips.

He returned to his tent to see the young man he had saved from inquisitory purging, hoping to have his newest ally awake and ready for action.

But the Ravenborn laid in his spot, eyes open and glowing intensely in blue light. Aquilax had seen those eyes before, when Baldur, as he called himself, had dueled Priest Falax briefly and had managed to intimidate one of his most powerful warriors. Now, however, the man lied like a dead man, in a trance, unable to move, speak, or see.

Aquilax budged the sleeping, slender and pale man, then he pushed him, ending with a strong slap that twisted Baldur's face to the opposing side. No effect.

"By the gods," he said, "The one time I need this guy and he decides to space out."

Rorarix and Gorax arrived, rushing in with their blades already at hand.

"Captain!" The camp is on fire, something apparently exploded within our perimeter. Our men and Geowyn's warriors are handling it. But..."

"Battle stations, we're under attack!" Aquilax interrupted, apparently confirming his two men's suspicions and expectations. They disappeared as quickly as they had arrived, shouting orders to their own men in turn.

"Prepare for battle!"

"To arms men!"

Aquilax took one last glance at the Ravenborn, then he glanced the dark horizon beyond the mountains, beyond the valley below. A red line began to appear, as dim as candlelight, yet clearly visible from his position. Dawn was near. His vision was suddenly blurred by the emerging fire from the lower parts of the camp.

"Shit."

He rushed out of his tent, sword in hand and branding his armor. He passed by the tents as men rushed down the mountain, spiraling down from the path they so carefully protected. Spears rose high and shields cackled as more and more people joined their captain, lining behind him and keeping up to his rhythm.

The new ball of fire came crashing down towards him, he saw it coming, increasing in size as he rushed to challenge its momentum.

"Spirits..." he mumbled, wholeheartedly praying, "You have been with me and before me all this time, I summon thee once more, I beg you side with me in this fight and bring rightful vengeance upon my enemies!"

The ball was moments away from crushing and roasting his body.

Yet his towering sword suddenly shone teal, absorbing flickering dots like vacuum drew air, it ignited in spirit fire, three vertical symbols appearing in its sheath, Aquilax' own forehead bearing a teal glyph, like a blessing bestowed upon him by divine gods that hovered perhaps an inch from his temple.

Without flinching, he sliced the air as the ball met his sword, and the blazing fire was cut in half, blown away like blitzing winds on a torch. The ball roared before dissipating.

"The White Lion!" his men praised, raising swords and spears, "The White Lion!"

Aquilax did not lose his momentum, his speed was only boosted by his previous swing, letting the weight of the sword give him that extra speed. The act only bolstered his troops, as they rose from the ground, shrugged off their wounds, and rushed behind their leader.

Many of the spearmen were already there, commanded by Rorarix, Gorax, and the surprising appearance of Falax, who went close to Aquilax as soon as he spotted him.

"Priest Falax!"

"Captain!"

"Are your men ready?"

"The Chantry militia stands by your side..." the man in religious clothing declared, just as Aquilax arrived at the frontline. Dawn began to break to the West, but the Ivernian defenders had been blinded by smoke.

Falax turned to the captain, seeing that Baldur had not showed up to fight, "Where is the accursed one?"

Aquilax did not respond to him, his eyes dead set on the fog.

"He brought this upon us, never before had the Noad attempted an attack at this hour."

"Let's blame people later, right now we have the battle to win, and it does not look pretty." He said, giving him a glare that made the priest rest his case.

Rorarix arrived next to them.

"Our archers lie on the rocks uphill, they will see those bastards coming."

"No they won't, make them descend a bit more under the mountain slope, and fast," Aquilax ordered.

"What?"

"Look above, the smoke blinds them from incoming waves, they will be shooting blindly while their archers..."

The chilling sound of a thousand arrows pierced the sky, ignoring the spearmen and directly into the firing line of the archers.

"Get our archers down now!" Rorarix ordered, cursing his lack of perception.

Aquilax looked at the terrain before them, the line of trees was not a problem, but the small bushes and shrubs that lived next to the short grass and fallen leaves. To make matters worse, the cool temperature and the rising sun heat began forming a mist that blinded his infantry.

"Form a line!" He shouted.

His men responded with a howl, bearing their green shields, brandishing rough white lion markings on their wood, the tips of their numerous spears against the fog. Most of them were sharpened sticks, while others, fewer and more favored, used iron-tipped spears. Aquilax knew his army was not as trained as those commanded by the great houses of Ivernia, nor the legions from the Empire to the West. Even the bloodthirsty Noads lying behind the shroud were more prepared for war, but he trusted his men with his life, and he knew more than anyone their resolve to defend the mountain pass, and that was perhaps enough to save the day.

"Wait..." he ordered.

He dragged his words, so as to make sure they echoed across the battle formation. Either way, his lieutenants echoed his commands across the line.

"Archers ready." He uttered.

"Archers ready!" Rorarix shouted.

The surviving archers prepared their bows, aiming at the gray mist.

A roar of a thousand men was heard beyond the shroud, making some spears hesitant, a battle cry full of savagery and bloodlust.

The cry continued, growing stronger. Then the tremble of thousands charging was felt on the ground. Aquilax readied his sword.

"Wait..." he repeated.

The warcry grew louder. The Noads were getting closer.

"Archers, loose!" he yelled.

A volley of arrows flew into the mist, disappearing. The sudden cry of wounded and dying men gave off the actual distance of the enemy. Aquilax pinpointed their location, he was now ready.

"Infantry, charge!"

Bearing their shields and spears steadily in front, the men began to run, attacking the mist, led by their captain, their lieutenants, and their sergeants.

It was not long before Aquilax spotted the enemy line, also rushing against them. They were men with their chests laid bare, tattooed with blood markings, swinging rudimentary axes, and sporting winter trousers, some of them bore full leather armor and thick animal furs covering their shoulders, but all of them wore the same mask without fault. It was a skull mask, made from the flayed victims the Noads took for whatever unholy reason they had.

Both armies rammed each other furiously, shields clashing and the stingy metal sounds of swords and spears crossing everywhere. Aquilax quickly created some space between him and his opponents, circling his sword, not caring whether it hit shield or flesh, all he cared about was creating enough distance for him to outmaneuver them. He then thrust and swung, killing skullpeople as he advanced. His men marched behind him, finishing those he felled or dueling their own. Arrows came and went as both sides shot at each other at will, the volleys flew past the frontline and into the rear, seeking to cripple their morale.

"Captain!"

Falax shouted not far from Aquilax' position. The white lion slashed his way to better listen to him. Satisfied with his share of blood, Aquilax brought down his sword on one last enemy, breaking his skull mask in the process as blood gushed into his face, then he retreated behind his men.

"Priest!" He answered.

"Our lines are faltering!" Falax said, "They are not as energetic as the Noads! I bet those demons attacked us now so that we didn't eat! Our men lack the strength to continue..."

"Damn them!"

Aquilax tried to look over his men, but the spears were too many and both Noads and Ivernians were entangled now. Surely, attacking at dawn before your enemy could fully prepare was smart, but it lacked honor.

"I bet she had something to do with it."

"Captain! There is another wave incoming!" Gorax shouted.

Aquilax saw them, they were contemptuously marching towards the battle, these were even more armed than their brethren, and showed long white spears, their skull masks even more sophisticated and ornamented than the meatshields they had sent first.

"This doesn't look good."

His eyes went farther, looking for the one that had sent those giant balls of fire to his camp.

After some moments, he saw her. The fog coincidentally gave way to a better view, and there she was, kneeling on top of a boulder, her face covered by a simple mask -- not a skull, but a fox mask -- hooded and mysterious as always.

"If only I could reach her." He regretted.

Another Noad attacked him. He parried one axe swing and cut down the belly, ending the skullman instantly.

He glanced at his men, faltering and slowly falling back before the sheer pressure of many bodies pushing at them fiercely.

"If only!" he cried.

Like a swift answer to prayer, the ground before the boulder where the girl rested cracked in blue light, intensifying by the second, then releasing its accumulated energy into an explosion of incandescent, ardent energy. The chaotic battle and its deafening cries of agony and fury were silenced, as both Ivernians and Noads turned towards the hooded girl's position, blasted away by a sudden explosion.

A strange, nameless feeling made Aquilax look back instead, and as his eyes opened wide before the slender figure of a man standing on a rock, several feet up into the mountain, the smoke dissipating and the heat of the campfire wearing down. The man was bare-chested, with glowing markings spread on his arms and sternum, but most majestic of all, his eyes burned with steaming blue, the color of ice.

Baldur had taken the field.