It was still early morning, yet it was a much different atmosphere than Damon expected. The daylight filtering into the war chamber felt muted, as if even the sun was reluctant to shine over the scorched remnants of the night before.
The outer rings of Bastion Sanctum still smoldered. There were craters everywhere, with multiple buildings being completely obliterated. Claw marks were also engraved all across the fortress, and the abyssal residue hung heavy in the air.
The stench of charred Abyssal flesh had not yet faded.
Yet inside the central sanctum, past a dozen layers of spatial reinforcement and detection formations, Damon stood before the elevated dais of command. His cloak, ragged from the night's battle, still bore streaks of blackened blood, not his own.
Lady Syllana stood at the edge of a conjured map, arms folded, her brows furrowed in grim thought.
"You're certain?" she asked, her voice taut.
