Somewhere else.
The wind and snow howled like a wild beast, lashing straight into the fortress walls of a Rank A Lord's territory. Here, the sky was always lead-gray, heavy sheets of cloud hanging low as if they wanted to crush the earth. Snow covered everything, branches, steps, even the towering stone walls were buried beneath it.
Yet the castle was still lit.
Not by fire, but by a pale blue radiance, like a night forest imprisoned in stone. From the tall window slits, glowing vines slid out, clinging to the frigid walls, half-buried under snow as if on the verge of freezing solid.
Lylia stood atop the watchtower, her white cloak pulled taut by the gale, her pale blond hair whipping wildly. Her eyes were sharp as blades, locked onto the distant curtain of snow.
Within it, dark shadows circled.
They were not birds. They were Harpies, a unit with the bodies of women but wings as huge as scythes.
