The cold rain of winter hammered the earth, turning fields into mud and stripping the last clinging leaves from skeletal trees.
Some years earlier, the city of Rose's Rise, temporary capital of what few still called the rightful Romelian Empire, but what most across the continent had come to nickname the Eastern Empire , had burst into celebration. Their Imperator had returned victorious, hailed for repelling what was said to be a savage invasion from the tribes that settled on their east.
For a time after, an uneasy, almost unnatural peace had settled over the whole land that once was part of the Romelian Empire. It was as though the great war engine forged by the three sons of Gratios had run out of fuel, stalled, winded, too exhausted to continue its grim purpose.
But the truth, as always, was more complex.
