The dusky light of evening seeped into the war tent of Blazzarene's high command, casting deep shadows across the crimson fabric and iron ornaments that lined the chamber. A massive war table dominated the center of the room, its surface etched with the diorama of Metreon Star City—each district marked by wooden carvings, each battalion symbolized by intricate metal figures.
Reis Goudford stood at the table, arms crossed, eyes narrowed with a cold intensity. His long coat of black leather whispered softly with every breath he took, and the tension in the room was so palpable that even the flickering lanterns seemed to hesitate.
Suddenly, a shadow stretched along the edge of the tent, elongating unnaturally. From its depths emerged Azrael, her form slipping out of the darkness like mist. Clad in her ebony cloak, her pale eyes gleamed beneath her hood.
"The Blasphemies have fallen," she said simply, her voice a whisper of silk and steel.
