The gates of the estate groaned open beneath the pale light of morning. A chill wind dragged sand across the courtyard as hooves clopped through the open arch.
The bannerless riders came slow and without flourish, their black cloaks hanging like shadows against the crumbling walls.
Bragg rode at the front, flanked by his lieutenants—Harrek, Goz, Yurna, and Orin. The same formation they'd arrived in days prior. But something had changed. There was no challenge in their posture, no bravado.
Only resolution.
Lan stood at the center of the courtyard, arms folded. His grey eyes flicked to each of them, measuring.
Bragg dismounted with a grunt, boots crunching against frost-dusted stone.
"We've come to give our answer," he said. "The Black Fangs submit. The terms are harsh, but the world has been harsher."
Lan nodded slowly, gaze sweeping the others.
"All of you?" he asked.
Goz smirked. "We're too deep in now to pull back."
