The sun was sinking behind the hills, casting the sky in hues of deep crimson and fading gold. The wind carried the scent of dry earth and distant fires, a reminder that somewhere out there, the enemy was waiting.

  Lucius adjusted his scutum, the heavy shield strapped tight against his arm. His body ached from the march, but exhaustion was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Not tonight.

  They had reached the designated site—a plateau overlooking the valley below. It was a good defensive position, but it didn’t make anyone feel safer. The unease from the abandoned Parthian camp still lingered, like a shadow that refused to fade.

  Something wasn’t right.

  ?

  Orders and Preparations

  “Set the palisades!”

  Centurion Septimus’ voice cut through the camp like a blade. Legionaries moved in quick, practiced efficiency, driving wooden stakes into the ground to form a crude but effective barricade around the perimeter.

  Lucius and Marcus worked side by side, hammering stakes into the hardened soil.

  “You feel it too, don’t you?” Marcus muttered under his breath.

  Lucius didn’t need to ask what he meant.

  He simply nodded.

  Marcus exhaled, wiping sweat from his brow. “Like we’re walking into a trap.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Lucius drove another stake into the ground. “Maybe we are.”

  Neither of them said anything after that.

  ?

  Firelight and Unease

  As night settled, the legionaries gathered around small controlled fires, eating their rations in silence. The usual chatter and laughter that accompanied camp life was absent.

  Lucius sat with his squad, tearing into a piece of hardened bread, washing it down with water from his flask. The food was tasteless, but his body needed it.

  Across from him, Gaius poked at the fire with a stick, his eyes unfocused. “It’s too quiet.”

  Servius, the grizzled veteran, snorted. “Quiet is good.” He took a bite of his ration, chewing slowly. “Means we might actually get some sleep before we start killing tomorrow.”

  Gaius wasn’t convinced. “It’s not right. The Parthians don’t just leave their camps burning unless—”

  “They want us to find it,” Lucius finished.

  That silenced the group.

  The fire crackled between them, the only sound in the thickening night.

  Marcus sighed, shifting his weight. “Think they’ll attack tonight?”

  Servius let out a low chuckle. “Depends. If they’re smart, they’ll wait until we’re tired, then hit us at dawn. But if they’re impatient…” He tossed his bread crust into the flames, watching it blacken. “…then we’re in for a long night.”

  No one said anything after that.

  ?

  The Watch Begins

  “First watch, on your feet!”

  Lucius pushed himself up as the assigned night guards rose from their places, strapping on their helmets and grabbing their weapons.

  He was among them.

  “Stay sharp,” Septimus warned. “If you see movement, wake the camp immediately. No hesitation.”

  Lucius took his position near the barricades, gripping his gladius in one hand, his shield resting against the wooden stakes. The air was colder now, the wind whispering through the grass.

  His eyes scanned the darkened valley below.

  Nothing.

  But the feeling was still there.

  The unnatural stillness. The sense that something was watching them.

  A faint sound reached his ears—the distant neigh of a horse.

  Lucius’ grip tightened.

  The Parthians were out there. Somewhere. Waiting.

  And soon, the night would bring blood.