17-5-1561 WC – Midnight
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The rain hadn't stopped here either.
It pounded the shellstone roofs of Virehall Temple, deep in the western highlands of Vengal. Lightning flashed over the mountains, casting jagged shadows across the silver coral spires. Below, in the war chamber, Prince Sarul stood barefoot before the sacred pool, his reflection shivering in the ripples of water disturbed by the storm.
He didn't look up when the old spy entered.
"Speak," Sarul said flatly.
The man bowed low. His cloak dripped, his beard soaked, eyes twitching from the run he'd made through the mountain trail. He didn't waste words.
"A ship arrived at Stormhall. Bernard Empire"
Sarul's hand clenched behind his back.
"Bernardians?"
"Yes, my prince. An envoy. Four crates. They met with Kaen in his main hall. I had a man inside—He saw everything."
"What did they bring?"
"Gold. Rifles. A demonstration."
The old spy paused.
