The wind howled across the ridges of Emberreach, carrying ash and the scent of sulfur. From Ironmark's tallest tower, Inigo stood silent, scanning the distant jagged horizon. Crimson streaks painted the clouds like the blood of a waking god. His binoculars fogged faintly with breath.
Something had changed. The air felt tighter. Heavier.
Behind him, the sound of armored boots echoed on the stone steps.
Marshal Cedric joined him, a black fur cloak wrapped over his chainmail. His helm hung at his hip, and his brow was furrowed.
"Our scouts report tremors near the gorge," Cedric said. "Sporadic, but increasing. They say… it stirs."
Inigo lowered the binoculars. "She's preparing. She knows something's coming."
Cedric studied him. "And you're still set on this? You plan to face it alone?"
"I have something the dragon's never seen before."
Cedric raised a brow. "A spell? Some relic?"
"Not quite."
The Marshal exhaled slowly. He didn't ask further. He'd learned not to.
