Dawn painted the waystation's courtyard in shades of blood and rust. Soren stood at the edge of the assembly, his back pressed against the cold stone wall as he watched the gathering forces through narrowed eyes.
The expedition was coming to life beneath crimson-streaked skies, and something in the air felt sharp, dangerous, like the moment before steel meets flesh.
Banners snapped in the morning wind, each house's colors a declaration of power and lineage.
Trescan's crimson and gold caught the sunrise like flames. Dravien's midnight blue rippled with silver stars that seemed to mock the fading night sky. Karvath green stood out against the gray stone walls, bold as new growth in spring.
Beneath these proud standards, knights assembled with military precision, armor gleaming despite the early hour, weapons checked and rechecked with ritual care.
