Of War [v1.0] | Ashes

Bram spit a dark glob of phlegm into the snow. "How many left, Captain?"

"They aren't coming back for it, Silas," a voice rasped through the fog. Ashes of War [v1.0]

Silas knelt in the black mud, his fingers tracing the rusted edge of an old infantry shield half-buried in the frost. He wiped away a layer of grime to reveal the faded crest of the 4th Legion—a roaring lion, now blind and scarred by pits of corrosion. Bram spit a dark glob of phlegm into the snow

The grey snow fell not from the clouds, but from the smoldering bones of the world. He wiped away a layer of grime to

"Enough to carry the memory," Silas replied, his voice barely louder than the whistling wind. "And that is all we have left."

Silas did not look up. He knew the heavy, labored breathing of Bram, his squad’s last surviving shield-bearer. "I know," Silas murmured. "I’m just checking for salvage. Every scrap of iron counts if we are going to make it through the Pass."

Bram grunted, leaning heavily on a walking axe that had long since lost its edge. "Scraps won't buy us bread in the Lowlands. Assuming the Lowlands haven't burned just as bright as the Ridge."