The sun was high over the frozen ring surrounding the Citadel of Obsidian.
Lucifer stood on the cracked black-stone battlements of the outer wall. He rested his iron gauntlets on the parapet, looking out over the five miles of pristine, deadly blue glacier ice he had created the day prior.
The Cryo-Pylons stood like a silent, glowing forest of frozen daggers, their massive crystal orbs tracking the empty horizon.
It was an impregnable defense line. It was also a massive magical beacon.
"They are coming from the south," Elara stated. The Fallen Valkyrie stood beside him, her silver spear catching the bright sunlight.
Miles away, just outside the perimeter of the Absolute Zero curse, a massive, disorganized column of people was marching toward the mountain.
There were no banners of the Crown or the Lumina Order.
"Refugees," Lucifer observed smoothly. His eyes analyzed the slow, stumbling procession.
