Asag stood motionless upon the battlements, his hands braced against the cold stone, his gaze fixed on the distant lights dancing across the black expanse of the sea. They shimmered like fallen stars, like the gods themselves had cast a net of fire upon the waves to guide salvation home. Time had ceased to matter—the ache in his bones, the wound pulsing at his side, the exhaustion that had settled into his marrow like a second skin—all of it faded before that glowing horizon.
A soldier approached, his boots scuffing against the worn stone. He hesitated when he saw his commander—the rigid set of Asag's shoulders, the hollow intensity in his eyes.
"My lord?" the man ventured, his voice rough from smoke and shouting.
Asag did not turn. His answer came slow, distant, as if spoken from the depths of a dream.
"Keep patrolling, soldier."
