While preparations went on in Ashbourne, with the lord commanders drilling their men into disciplined formations, the blacksmiths hammering day and night to forge as many Chronicle armour sets as their calloused hands could manage, and Sapphira steadily managing the affairs of the court with the poise of a queen, Asher had gone elsewhere.
Far from the bustle of the city, he journeyed deep into the Ash Mountain Range with Sirius at his side.
Now he stood in the heart of the wilderness, holding Ithamar in hand. All around him the jagged mountains rose like ancient titans, their peaks veiled in drifting clouds, their flanks clothed in sprawling forests that whispered with the wind. In that lonely expanse, Asher stood bare-bodied beneath the glaring sun, muscles taut with strain, his chest rising and falling heavily as he swung the massive blade once more.
'It's not working.' His voice carried a hollow weight of regret.
