The Copper Bridge
The copper gleamed in the dying light, etched with marks of a hundred sieges. had seen many bridges in his years of wandering, but none like the one spanning the Arid Belt. It was not merely an engineering feat — it was a declaration built by the long before the ever claimed the canyon lands as their own.
The crossing had been delayed three days. Every scout returned with the same report: beyond the , the plains were quiet — unnervingly so. knew better than to trust a quiet battlefield. Silence here meant the enemy was not absent. It meant they were already in position, waiting for whoever moved first.
He ran his thumb along the map's worn edge, tracing the route to . The Accord would not happen by itself. Someone had to make the first move across the bridge — and every commander on both sides of the gorge knew it would define whatever came next.
"You're doing the thing again," said a voice behind him. leaned against the supply cart, arms folded. "The thing where you stare at the map like it owes you an apology."
"Maps don't lie," replied, not looking up. "People lie. Maps just show you what people built."
The wind moved through the canyon, carrying the faint metallic smell of the 's verdigris. Somewhere on the other side, the advance units were waiting for a signal that had not come. He folded the map deliberately and tucked it into his coat.
The decision, he realized, had already been made the moment he accepted the commission. Everything since had simply been delay dressed up as planning. turned to face the bridge, and for the first time in three days, he took a step forward.