The campfires along the ridges of the Northern army glowed faintly in the distance, and in the center tent of black canvas, Noah sat at a desk lit only by a single lantern. His gloved fingers tapped against the table as he read the report for the fifth time, though every word still felt unreal.
["Eldred Monastery. Burned to the ground. No relics recovered. Few survivors. Witnesses claim to have seen a silver eyed man."]
Noah's jaw clenched. "Silver eyed…"
The phrase repeated like a curse in his head.
The Saint's relic—one of the last uncorrupted sacred objects believed to belong to St. Eldred—had been housed deep within Northern lands at a Southern-built monastery, guarded under neutrality by both nations. Its loss would spark more than outrage; it would ignite suspicion, conspiracy, maybe even war.
And now, his description was tied to the attack.
He pushed the parchment aside, exhaling sharply.
Outside, a shadow moved beyond the tent flap. "Enter," he said.
