The Shadowed Flame
The valley was strewn with the shattered remains of the dead emerald eagles. Their enormous bodies lay strewn on charred ground, wings spread wide like splintered sails, eyes glazed and cold. Moonstone's army, enormous and foreboding, remained standing, battered and cautious, about the shattered battleground. Smoke hung into the pale light, bearing the bitter smell of burned feathers and smoldering earth.
Aurelian stayed in the saddle at the head, his blue armor glinting even through the mist. His chest surged, each inhalation a gasp, a torn, savage tug. The Tidal Reckoning had taken its cost—puissant beyond imagination, sapping him of more than simple endurance. Yet his gaze never left the cliff above, where the hooded individual had stood since the first eagle had plummeted. Composed. Deadly. A force that exuded purpose.
