The torchlight flickered in the war chamber of Stormveil Keep as Elizabeth stood before the carved stone table, her fingers tracing the etched map that detailed the entire Northern Vale. Her companions gathered around her, each wearing an expression that mirrored her own tense, focused, resolute.
“We’re out of time,” Elizabeth said quietly. “The scouts confirm that Dagon’s forces are less than a day from the outer border of the Silvergrove.”
Cassian crossed his arms, his usually relaxed demeanor replaced by hardened leadership. “How many men can Ironholt spare?”
“Not enough,” Ryvan replied from the shadowed archway, his voice low. “They’ve begun to feel the Crown of Echoes’ corruption. The dead whisper through the walls. Soldiers are deserting in the night.”
“Then we can’t hold the cit
