The air atop the Northveil Clock Tower no longer carried the crisp, biting scent of a winter morning. Instead, it had become a shivering medium, vibrating with a high-frequency mana-resonance forced out by the transmission array Hektor had hastily mounted. Rianor Sudrath stood on the precipice of the crumbling stone balcony, his fingers white-knuckled as they gripped the ice-cold iron railing. His gaze, sharp and predatory, was locked onto the sea-line, where the blackened silhouette of The Behemoth still vented thick, sulfurous plumes of steam after its initial, devastating salvo that had erased an entire residential block from existence.
