The city gates of Northaven loomed ahead, their iron-banded wood thrown wide in welcome for heroes who no longer existed.
Soren's gelding limped beneath him, each step a fresh reminder of their defeat as the battered column approached the city walls.
Ahead, the cobblestone streets filled with commoners pressed shoulder to shoulder, their faces bright with anticipation, craning for the first glimpse of returning champions.
Children perched on parents' shoulders, merchants abandoned stalls, laborers paused mid-task, all gathered to witness glory that would never arrive.
'They expect a parade,' Soren thought, bile rising in his throat. 'They're about to get a funeral procession.'
The shard pulsed cold against his chest as Valenna stirred. 'Watch their faces,' she murmured. 'Watch how quickly adoration turns to fear.'
