The soft, pulsating luminescence from the Tactical Digital Map V.2 atop the round table in the War Room began to dim as Rianor retracted his control stylus. The grand assembly had officially reached its conclusion. The pact for a two-month preparation period was sealed, locked by the mutual interests of steel and scales. General Zoldrak, the dragon in human form with copper scales adorning his temples, stood tall across the table. His breath was heavy, leaving faint traces of vapor in the chill air of the Northreach highlands.
"Two months, Duke Lucian," Zoldrak's voice was deep and gravelly, echoing through the expansive stone hall. "Dragons are not accustomed to waiting. We are creatures of the storm and the strike. But if what your second son says about this 'logic of death' holds true, then we shall use this time to sharpen our claws in the East District. Do not make us regret this patience."
