"Push, you miserable excuses for Northmen! If a shadow-beast sneezes, half of you will be flat on your backs before the spit hits the ground!"
Elios's voice didn't just carry across the training yard; it seemed to vibrate the very frost off the stone battlements. It was the most normal thing Zarius had heard in weeks. He stood on the observation balcony, the wind whipping his heavy cloak, feeling a strange, almost foreign sense of… solidity.
Beside him, Flio was busy trying to look busy with a stack of logistics reports, though his eyes kept darting toward the Duke.
"The third company looks sluggish," Zarius noted. "They'll be meat for the grinders if the pass breaches before the moon turns. We need to tighten the formations for the subjugation."
