The mist curled around them as the three walked toward the war council. Somewhere in the darkness beyond the gate, a bell tolled—slow, wet, wrong.
He stood on the shattered ramparts of the north gate, the jagged scar of a Hellcannon impact still raw beneath his boots. Below, the camp followers and refugees huddled around flickering braziers, their faces hollow. Once, these walls had bristled with the banners of a dozen knightly orders. Now, only a tattered griffon standard hung limp from the keep. return of reckoning
“Aye.” Kaelen hefted his axe. The rune on its blade glowed faintly, a dying ember refusing to go dark. “But it is our execution. We choose the ground. We choose the moment. That is the return of reckoning, knight. Not waiting for a savior. Becoming one.” The mist curled around them as the three