The Mistshroud camp was hushed long after the thunder of hooves faded down the mountain road. Every disciple seemed to carry the weight of that single name—Empire.
Adrian sat with his arm bare to the cold air, linen strips peeled back. The black corruption spiraled further now, faint veins of smoke searing across his skin like brands. Storm pressed against him, eyes glowing with stormlight, but even the beast's warmth could not reach the frost settling in his chest.
Bella slammed her halberd's butt into the earth. "We can't bow to them. You saw her. The way she looked at us wasn't respect—it was possession. If we march south, Adrian, you'll never come back."
Laen stood apart, his talismans swirling faintly, dim embers in the night. "And if we defy the Inquisitor, they'll raze this mountain before the Dust Order has the chance. Don't mistake the Empire's patience for weakness. Their armies grind slower than shadows, but when they move, nothing stands."
