The woman with the scar folded her arms. "You came alone?"
"Yes."
"You think that's smart?"
"I didn't come here to ask permission."
"And what did you come here to do?"
Lindarion looked over the table.
The scattered unit positions.
The marked loss zones.
The red circles drawn across half the valley.
"Take control," he said simply. "We need order. The moment these things attack again, we either act as one… or we fall one at a time."
Taldris studied him.
The woman looked unconvinced.
"Bold talk," she said. "But I've seen bold elves die screaming this week. What makes you think you can lead soldiers who've never seen you fight?"
Lindarion stared at her.
He didn't raise his voice.
Didn't posture.
Just reached for the gauntlet of his left glove and pulled it off, slow.
The back of his hand shimmered faintly in the candlelight, five runes etched into the skin like brand marks. Light crackled under the surface.
His affinity flared.
Divine. Fire. Ice. Lightning.
