Chapter 38: The March of War
Far to the west of Greystone, deep within the heart of the fortified city of Stonewatch, war preparations were well underway.
Prince Varion sat upon an obsidian throne inside a lavish but shadowed war chamber. Clad in regal crimson robes with golden serpent emblems coiled around his cuffs, he observed a massive map of Aerion unfurled across the war table. His eyes—narrow, calculating, and cold—rested on a single dot to the far east.
Greystone.
"So," he muttered, tracing his gloved finger over the mark, "the boy who dared to resist. A mere city-lord with delusions of grandeur... and yet, he defeated the Tide scouts and humiliated my envoy."
Behind him, Lord Agram knelt—tall, armored in plated black and silver steel, and bearing the sigil of a chained lion. Agram was the Warhound of Stonewatch, feared for razing entire towns without remorse. With his balding head and scarred face, he was the embodiment of brutality and precision.
"My Prince," Agram said, voice low and gravelly, "say the word, and Greystone will burn before the week is out."
Prince Varion stood, eyes glowing with a glint of hatred. "Burn it. Salt the ground. Kill all but the blacksmiths and miners. The ore belongs to me. Lucas Carter will learn what happens to those who reject royal command."
Agram bowed. "As you command."
He turned, exiting the chamber. Outside, three generals awaited him in the training fields of Stonewatch: Darion Bragg, already bandaged and grim-faced from his previous defeat; General Corven, the Beastmaster of the West, known for leading armies of trained war beasts; and General Nera Valen, the Silver Fang, a master archer and tactician whose arrows had claimed the lives of ten thousand enemies.
Corven smirked the moment he saw Darion.
"Back from your playdate with the cub, Darion?" he sneered. "I thought you’d at least take his arm before crawling back."