The moon hung high above the drifting clouds, like silver ships sailing across a celestial sea, their pale glow illuminating the night with an ethereal light.
Asher stood silently on the wide balcony of his chamber in Nineveh, the city of stone and song sprawled beneath him. His hands rested on the rail, the marble cool beneath his fingers, and his golden eyes were fixed on the heavens, wearing a thoughtful, unreadable expression. The Kingmaker had told him to return after a month, and ever since he set foot back on the soil of the capital, his mind had been anything but still.
Before he left, Ark and Dan had finally unveiled the armor they had labored on for over a year, Chronicles.
A pristine white armor, forged in hardwork and patience, imbued with Mythril crystal dust, an essence as rare as it was powerful. It shimmered faintly, even in darkness, as if holding the light of ancient stars within.
