The morning light spilt across the fortress walls, washing Baltimore in a pale gold that made the city look almost peaceful.
Asmodeus stood on the highest balcony of the central keep, one hand resting on the cold stone railing, the other wrapped loosely around a steaming cup of dark tea. Below, the streets were more alive than before.
Merchants started to sell cheap goods, lowering prices after Asmodeus paid them in advance to allow the poorer families to keep eating and drinking.
Blacksmiths hammered at their forges in the last minutes, weapons and shields for the troops on the wall. Children dared to dart between the carts while laughing. It truly felt like a real city, not the ghost town from a few days ago.
But the air told a different story.
It was heavier. Tighter. Asmodeus could help but close his eyes. His instincts, sharpened by blood and battle, whispered the same thing they always did before a storm: They're coming.
