Cyrus's POV

As we stepped out of the war room, our footsteps rolled heavily on the stone floor and they sounded eerily like the funeral bells before a war. We could not afford fear or doubt. Not now. Not when Ghysem's life depended upon it.

We walked side by side and every now and then our hands would make soft contact. Eventually, I held her hand in mine. It was comforting. The illumination of torches was flickering along the walls and it was as if we were watched by the ghosts of the war.

"We'll place our swordsmen who can wield shields at the front," I explained, "They must be...