The rain fell harder now, washing over stone, steel, and pride alike.
General Morien stood at the gates of House Drenlor, his cloak soaked, boots planted firmly in the rising mud.
Beside him, Aerik had finally arrived—eyes wide, lips pressed into a tight line, as if he still couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Across the gate stood Veyran, tall atop his horse, armor streaked with rain, the lightning crest of his personal banner rippling behind him like a challenge to the heavens.
Behind him stretched his army—over a hundred Rank 2 elite mages, row after disciplined row, rain glistening off their conjured shields.
Silent. Ready.
General Morien exhaled and gave a dry chuckle.
"I must admit, First Young Master… I'm impressed."
He narrowed his eyes.
"So the rumors were true.
You've built quite the force.
A powerful army. Hmm… where have you been hiding it, I wonder?"