The banners of House Ferrondel unfurled above Dawnhaven's walls, their black and rustlight sigils catching the summer wind.
For the first time in living memory, those banners did not hang in defeat or mourning but in promise. A promise of reckoning.
The muster had been called at dawn. By noon, the streets were filled with soldiers.
Rows of infantry in half-plate, magitech rifles at the shoulder, bayonets fixed, stood with drilled precision.
Cavalry trotted at their flanks, sabers glinting, revolvers holstered at their hips.
Behind them came the thunderous beasts of Caedrion's new industry: artillery pieces dragged by teams of horses, their steel carriages polished and gleaming like the birth of a new sun.
The people of Dawnhaven gathered along the avenues, not with tears and dirges as they had when the siege was first raised, but with cheers.
