"Then let's make sure it's a cost we're willing to pay," Seelah said, resting a hand on the Commander’s shoulder.
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Across the wasteland, a roar echoed—not from an animal, but from the very earth itself tearing open. The crusade wasn't over. It was just beginning. "Then let's make sure it's a cost we're
"They're celebrating a reprieve, Seelah, not a victory," the Commander replied, looking at their hand. Veins of glowing light pulsed beneath the skin—mythic power, a gift or a curse from a source no one quite understood. The crusade wasn't over
The air in Drezen didn't smell like a city; it smelled like wet iron and burnt sulfur. High atop the citadel's battlements, the Knight-Commander stood alone. Below, the banners of the Fifth Crusade snapped in a wind that shouldn't have been there—a draft pulled directly from the Abyss through the festering sore of the Worldwound.