The war room in Valengard's commandeered fortress was cold despite the braziers burning in each corner. Liam stood before the tactical map, his hands pressed flat against the scarred wood of the command table.
The cartographer's ink showed their position with brutal clarity—a single red marker deep in Radiant territory, surrounded by a sea of blue fortifications.
One hundred and fifty miles to Sanctum Lux.
Eight to ten days of forced march.
Twelve days of supplies.
The mathematics of their desperation couldn't be clearer.
"The scouts returned an hour ago," Lieutenant Zara said, her voice cutting through his thoughts. She stood to his left, arms crossed, her sharp features cast in shadow. "The Radiant Empire has collapsed their outer defensive lines. They're consolidating everything at the capital."
