The conference hall of Frost Glaive City beat slowly amid the embers of war, like the heart of a wounded beast.
The dome of this hall, the political center of the Northern Frontier, was dark gray, like heavy clouds pressing overhead.
The silver eagle banners of House Edmund hung high on the walls beside the Empire's golden dragon banners, symbolizing that order still endured, yet hinting at how precarious it had become.
Duke Edmund wore a gray robe and leaned against the back of his chair, his pale fingers gripping a wooden staff.
He remained imposing, but his appearance could no longer conceal the signs of approaching death.
Seated to his right was Louis Calvin, dressed in the Red Tide Cloak.
He wore a smile, his gaze warm as it passed over each attendee, as though he hoped that calm might ease the unease around the table.
The meeting had yet to begin, but the air was already heavy as lead.
Everyone knew that today would mark a turning point for the Northern Frontier.
Edmund slowly rose with the support of his staff. His voice was quiet, but everyone had to listen closely. "Everyone, thank you for still being here."
His gaze swept over those seated below: white-haired representatives of the Northern Frontier's old nobility, an exhausted Gareth from the War Office, Inspector Mace watching discreetly, reserved and silent Frontier Nobles from the South, and Sixth Prince Asta with deep shadows beneath his eyes...
"This war... nearly wiped out the Northern Frontier. The monster army led by Titus was a calamity unlike any we have ever known.
"We have lost so very much. More than thirty houses have been erased from the history of the Northern Frontier forever. Our warriors died in pools of blood, and civilian corpses filled the