Focus.
Focus.
Listen to your surroundings.
Feel the wind shift.
The voice echoed in Andravion's mind, a constant guide, reminding him to sharpen his senses. The rustle of leaves. The gentle sway of grass. The birds flitting between the trees above him. And then, finally, the subtle yet undeniable presence of his enemies—hidden, waiting.
"What will be your next move, young prince?" The voice whispered again, its tone a mixture of challenge and instruction.
Andravion let the moment stretch, the calm before the storm.
"I say... we feed the dogs a bone," he murmured aloud, the words sharp and decisive.
"Not bad, young prince. You've grown well."
"I had a good mentor." He paused, a flicker of pride in his voice. "And a good guardian contractor."
"..."
"It's naturally expected of me," the voice added, a mixture of pride and confidence in it's voice. "Ramona, the Guardian Contractor of Wisdom."
There was a long, almost silent pause. But Andravion didn't need to hear the response. He could feel Ramona's presence, calm and steady, just as always.
"Let's go home, Ramona."
With that, the young prince straightened, adjusting the weight of his sword as he began walking back toward the camp, the sounds of the world fading behind him. Soon, he emerged from the shadow of the trees, where his small group of warriors waited. They were his family, his brothers and sisters in arms. His comrades.
"Alright, men," Andravion called, his voice steady and commanding. "Today, we face our final challenge. The road we've walked together has been long. But your courage and resolve have brought us to this moment."
His gaze swept over the faces before him—young and old, hardened by battle, yet with a fire in their eyes. He could feel the weight of their trust in him. And it filled him with purpose.
"Remember," he continued, his tone low but powerful, "the strength of a warrior is not measured by the battles fought, but by the heart with which we fight. Stand firm, for the victory we earn today will echo through time. Honor, duty, and courage—these are the legacies we leave behind. Let's finish this... together."
The men roared in agreement, their voices rising in a chorus that seemed to shake the very air. The spirit of the warriors had been reignited. They were ready.
Andravion allowed himself a brief moment of reflection, then stepped forward. The time for words had passed. It was time for action.
"The enemy is positioned strategically," he said, his voice now taking on a sharper, more tactical edge. "One wrong move, and we're finished. But we will use that to our advantage." He paused, eyes narrowing in thought. "We'll deceive them. Lure them close enough, and then we strike."
In the heart of their camp, plans were being made, strategies drawn on the dirt beneath their feet. The soldiers gathered, listening intently.
"So, Captain," one of the warriors spoke up, a note of curiosity in his voice, "what's the plan?"
Andravion smiled, the flicker of his father's legacy shining through. His father had been a master strategist—every victory had been earned with precision, every loss learned from. And now, it was Andravion's turn to lead them to triumph.
"We'll strike when night falls. We'll divide our forces into five squads," he said, his voice low but steady, each word carrying the weight of command. "Aaron, you lead the first team and charge the front. Silphon, take your squad to the flanks. Merric, you'll infiltrate their base and seize control from within. Byron, your team will cover us—make sure no ambush catches us off guard. Little J, your squad will stand by for backup."
He paused, his gaze lingering on each of them, ensuring they understood the gravity of their task.
"And Elpenor..." Andravion's tone darkened. "Avenge our fallen brothers. Find their leader—and end him."
There was a brief, heavy silence, broken only by the soft rustling of the wind. The warriors nodded, resolute in their mission.
"And of course," Andravion added, a smirk tugging at his lips, "you all know I always have a backup plan."
The soldiers chuckled, their spirits lifting. It was a familiar refrain—Andravion's careful calculations, his ability to anticipate every move. It was a trait he had inherited from his father, as well as from his guardian, Ramona, whose wisdom guided him in ways that defied logic. Together, they had made a near-impossible victory a certainty.
"For the backup plan," he continued, his voice sharp and commanding, each word deliberate. "We'll drive the enemy into a narrow valley. Once they're there, we'll begin to tighten the noose, surrounding them slowly, using the terrain to our advantage. While they're fixated on our front, we'll close in from multiple directions— leaving them with no room to maneuver, no way to escape."
"Let's move out," Andravion commanded, his voice sharpening with the finality of the words. The time for preparation had begun.