The ground trembles beneath your boots as thousands march into line. Shields lock edge to edge, a wall of iron stretching farther than your eyes can follow. Banners whip and snap in the wind, their crimson cloth painted against the dawn sky.

The air is heavy. Not with sound, but with silence. No one speaks. You hear only the rasp of breath inside your helm and the creak of leather straps as your armor shifts. Every man around you shares the same waiting stillness, every heart beating like a drum.

You taste the dust of the field. In this moment you are not alone you are part of something greater. Strength is no longer yours alone to bear; it flows through the line, binding shield to shield, man to man.

Shields lock. You are part of the wall of iron.