A roar of arcane thunder splits the sky above the southern cliffs of the Demonlands.
From a shimmering, swirling maw of gold-edged violet light, a battalion of royal demon soldiers marches through, adorned in obsidian-plated armor, banners flapping with Vexena's sigil as their boots pound the dust of Syraleth's borderlands.
Behind them, sleek obsidian carriages roll forward, each gilded with silver trim and glowing demonic sigils. Floating at their center, in a throne-like cabin upholstered with blood-red velvet and cushioned like a goddess's chariot, sits the Demon Queen Vexena, one finger lazily swirling through a goblet of spiced wine.
She lets out a long, annoyed sigh. "I hate road trips," she mutters.
Maribelle, sitting across from her, arches a brow. "You insisted on coming in person."
"Only because sending Eris ahead with a warning note would've been considered 'poor diplomacy.'"
