Shadows Beneath the Velvet Jewel
The world felt as though it was holding its breath.
On the eastern border, steel and strategy clashed in silence before swords could ever meet. Moonstone's decision had been made—King Aurelian would march himself. His banner, which for decades had remained inside the high spires of Moonspire, was unfurled again, carried eastward under his command. In the minds of both his subjects and his enemies, that choice meant one thing only: Aurelian would not send others to die in his stead—he would stand in the fire himself.
Across from him, Vellore braced like a beast forced to defend its den. King Gary's fury was infamous, his cunning sharper than most gave him credit for, and though his army had bled terribly in recent days, his mind raced faster than his healers' hands. The war would not be won with numbers alone; it would be won with teeth sunk into the enemy's throat before they realized the jaws had closed.
