Smoke of the burning quarter rolled through the narrow streets of Solaris' capital, curling black plumes that clawed at the night sky.
The bells of alarm had not stopped since midnight, a shrill dirge tolling doom for the kingdom.
The army of a hundred had cut through the gates like wolves in a sheepfold, leaving ruin and death behind. But though their blades had been sharp and their wills unyielding, the sheer tide of numbers pressed back.
From a force of three thousand defenders, the capital still roared with half its strength.
And Lan's soldiers, hardened as they were, bled. Many had fallen. What remained fought with teeth clenched and eyes burning red, as though they had abandoned the thought of survival in exchange for one wish: to leave a scar on Solaris that would never heal.
Bragg strode through the main avenue with blood on his knuckles, his tattoos streaked crimson.
