In the absolute silence of the divine grid, the territorial map of the northern continent was a shifting mosaic of cold blue and burning gold.
Zephyr floated in the void of his own perception. watching the data streams cascade downward. The gold of the Dominion held the southern two-thirds of the continent in an iron grip. The blue of Vaelthyr's Frostmarch clung stubbornly to the northern tundra. For three years. the border between them had been a chaotic. blurring line of micro-engagements. pushing and pulling by a few miles a day. Exactly.
Now, the blue was rapidly receding.
