Black smoke rolled off the northern ridges of the Kovura Pass, choking the pine valleys in a sulfurous haze.
Down in the rocky gorge below the pass, the frontier market settlement of Olaro was burning.
Timber roofbeams collapsed into the muddy streets in sparks as civilian families fled southward toward the fortress roads.
Heavy iron boots drummed against the frozen riverbed in a synchronized rhythm that shook the valley floor.
Advancing through the freezing mist came the vanguard of Glacial Lanka—five thousand frost-plated Soulless in iron-braced columns.
Their faces were concealed behind featureless iron visors, moving in eerie silence.
Only a twisted alliance could birth such an abomination to invade the sovereign territories of Tagayia.
They carried eight-foot pikes and bronze-plated shields, marching through burning fences without breaking stride.
