Ashes Of War [v1.0] Apr 2026

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

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." 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

Silas pulled a heavy leather skin from his belt and uncorked it. Instead of water, it contained a thick, shimmering oil—rendered from the fat of the fallen beasts that now stalked the ruins. He poured a single drop onto the shield's surface. Assuming the Lowlands haven't burned just as bright

The grey snow fell not from the clouds, but from the smoldering bones of the world.

Silas looked back at the small, shivering cluster of campfires tucked into the ruins of a collapsed watchtower. A handful of hollow-eyed refugees and three wounded soldiers were all that remained of a proud garrison.

They called it the Ashing. It had been seven years since the Great Compact was shattered, and the skies had never truly cleared.