I can feel my heart pounding in the silence before the storm. Around me, the living form ragged lines, weapons trembling in sweat-slicked hands. Before us, the dead march—endless, tireless, eyes hollow with stolen fire. This is it. The final reckoning. Not for territory, not for glory, but for the right to *end*. To rest. Or to live. I don’t know which side fate will claim. But I know I have to choose—fight, fall, or try to end it all before the dawn.