The sky over Northveil seemed to recoil from the idea of granting peace to those who had just staked their lives upon its frozen soil. The snow that descended was no longer an emblem of northern purity; instead, it carried the blackened ash of a thousand fires, a funeral shroud that stained the shoulders of every surviving soldier. Within the shattered remains of the shoreline, Duke Lucian Sudrath remained as still as a statue of cold granite, held in a rigid military salute that seemed to defy the very laws of physical and mental exhaustion. The silence that followed the destruction of the initial fleet was so thick it felt tangible, as if time itself had frozen to pay homage to the knights who had been returned to the earth.
