Part 1.
The days leading to Gravehold were not silent.
Adexander and his growing court moved like a storm across broken lands—gathering rumors, supplies, and whispers. Each village they passed watched from behind barricaded windows. Some bowed. Others ran.
They left all standing. For now.
Kaien sat atop a wagon, tuning a blade made of obsidian and bone.
> "You know," he said, "most warlords at Gravehold won't kneel. They'll test you. Challenge you. Try to break your image before it can rise."
> "Let them," Adexander said from beside the campfire. "I'll carve my image into their bones."
Igris stepped out of the woods, blood on his armor.
> "Scouts dealt with. One tried to flee—wore the sigil of the Ashbone Clan."
Raik spat into the fire. "Ugh. Those guys always smell like burnt teeth and bad decisions."
Adexander turned, his voice quiet.
> "What clans are confirmed to attend?"
Igris listed them off:
> "The Ashbone Clan. Masters of fire-beasts and corpseforging."
> "The Hollowed Eye. Illusionists. Assassins. They sell truth like it's poison."
> "Varnix the Collector. A baron with a court of undead nobles. More interested in politics than battle."
> "Clan Tyrvane. Beastmasters who believe only the strong deserve to exist."
> "And one more… unexpected guest," Kaien added. "Rumor says a descendant of the Archangels is attending. Alone."
A silence followed.
Even Raik stopped grinning.
> "Angels?" he muttered. "That's above our paygrade."
Adexander stood.
> "Good."
> "I was wondering when the heavens would show their arrogance."