THE SOUTHERN JOURNEYThe decision to move was not a tactical retreat, but a desperate offensive. The High Palace, once a symbol of the Blackfang's resurgence, had become a compromised shell, its vents whispering with the serpent's malice and its foundations tainted by the emerald fog. With the "Electric Prince" entering his eighth month and the cursed mark on his arm growing like a parasitic vine, the Trinity could no longer afford to wait.
"We do not go as refugees," Gwen declared, her voice echoing through the War Room, which was now lit by the flickering orange glow of travel-lanterns. "We go as a Sovereign House. If Viper wants a harvest, we will bring the scythe to him."
But a direct invasion of the Southern Kingdom—a land of alchemical fortresses and smog-choked skies—was a suicide mission. They needed a cover, a diplomatic veil that would allow a massive military force to cross the Neutral Zones without triggering a global catofire.
