Lahat ng Kabanata ng BETWEEN TWO WARS: Kabanata 1 - Kabanata 10

​The early morning mist always hung thick over Town Sogala, clinging to the damp clay roofs and wrapping around the lower ridges of Mountain Soga like a shroud. For as long as Rashida could remember, the mountain had been both a guardian and a wall. Beyond its jagged, storm-crowned peaks lay the arid reaches of Gbantala—a realm of dust, steel, and a restless army that had cast a shadow over Sogala for generations.​Standing in the courtyard of her father’s compound, Rashida smoothed the folds of her woven tunic. The cool air bit at her skin, but it was the silent ache in her chest that made her shiver. Today marked exactly sixty days since the dark heralds had first ridden into town, bearing the seal of the Council. Sixty days since the uneasy peace between Sogala and Gbantala had finally shattered into the threat of open war.​And for two months, Rashida had lived in a quiet, agonizing blur, watching the only man who truly knew her heart prepare to march away.​"You are standing in t

​Two weeks of relentless fighting had transformed the once-serene valleys of Mountain Soga into a scarred landscape of smoke, ash, and scorched earth.​The initial clash at the gorge had only been the opening salvo. Day and night, wave after wave of Gbantala forces hurled themselves against the narrow defensive lines held by the defenders of Sogala. Captain Vane’s men had fought with frantic courage, but sheer numbers and constant bombardment from heavy siege engines were slowly taking their toll.​Zafaro knelt in the damp soil behind an improvised timber barricade, wrapping a strip of clean linen around his left forearm. The wound was shallow—inflicted by a glancing blow from an archer’s arrow during yesterday’s skirmish—but the muscle throbbed with a dull, persistent ache.​"You ought to rest, Zafaro," muttered Corin, a young soldier from the lower district of Sogala who sat resting his back against the timber wall. Corin’s eyes were hollow, rimmed with dark circles of sheer exhaust

The air at the higher altitude was thin, bitter, and choked with the heavy, nauseating stench of scorched pine. Sleet had turned to a relentless, stinging hail that rattled off the iron fittings of Zafaro’s armor like a barrage of tiny stones. Every breath felt like inhaling ground glass. His lungs burned. The weight of his leather and iron vest pressed down on his ribs, heavy with the sweat of a three-day march from the iron gates of Sogala. Behind him, the three heavy wooden supply wagons creaked on their axles, their iron-rimmed wheels grinding against the treacherous shale of the Serpent’s Spine. Ahead, the narrow ledge flattened slightly before crossing the Black Gorge. A jagged, two-hundred-foot chasm yawning into absolute nothingness. Spanning it was an ancient timber bridge, reinforced with heavy iron bands that groaned against the howling mountain wind. It was the only crossing point wide enough to support the heavy supply wagons. If the bridge was destroyed or blocked, Cap

The grease on Zafaro’s face had dried into a stiff, itchy mask of soot and blood.He didn't wash it off. There was no water to waste on pride at the Bloodied Ridge, not when the small wooden barrels left in the vanguard camp were strictly reserved for the frantic field surgeons down in the mud. He checked the leather strap of the dispatch tube one last time, pulling it until the coarse hemp cord bit into his shoulder through his torn, sweat-soaked tunic.Captain Vane’s scroll was heavy against his ribs.Names. Dozens of them. Some scratched out in hurried charcoal, others marked with a single, dark ink dot to signify bodies that hadn't been pulled from the burning timber of the breached wall yet. It was a record of slaughter, and it was his ticket back into the valley."Don't look back," Tobin muttered from the long shadow of the second supply wagon, his rough hand holding a bloody rag tightly over a deep gash on his forearm. "The mountain doesn't like lingering men, boy. Get down to

The wooden doors of the council flour depot splintered with a thunderous CRACK that echoed through the narrow, fog-choked streets of the lower district.Heavy timber levers and iron hammers pounded relentlessly against the reinforced oak frame. Inside the dark entryway, the two young council guards abandoned their posts, dropping their brass lanterns and retreating through the rear courtyard to escape the furious crowd surging up the marble steps. The hinges groaned, metal tearing away from rotten stone, before the massive barriers crashed inward into the dust.Rashida stood at the threshold of the breached depot, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.The air inside the dark stone room was heavy, smelling of ancient lime, stale grain, and the bitter winter frost that clung to the uninsulated masonry. Around her, dozens of desperate mothers, weavers, and elderly men flooded into the storehouse, their faces pale and drawn from weeks of quiet starvation. Torchlight fli