Dawn in Draconia never arrived with subtle whispers. Above the soaring altitudes of the Draconia-Alpen Mountains, the sun seemed to explode from behind the horizon, drenching the granite peaks in a gold so brilliant it was painful to the eye. For Roland Sudrath, that light was not a symbol of hope, but rather a death knell for his past life as a loyal citizen of the Kingdom of Aethelgard.
Throughout the night, he had not closed his eyes once. In his hand, a sheet of cold dragon-skin parchment felt as heavy as a mountain. It was the draft of a treasonous compact—a document that, should it fall into the hands of King Edward's intelligence network, would ensure the entire Sudrath lineage was erased from the annals of history.
"You look like a man who has just finished selling his soul to a devil, Brother Roland."
