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Lansius
Five days had passed since Lansius’ ride with Cecile. The hawk letters sent to the many cities and towns had begun to bear fruit. Riders and carriages on official business entered and left Korelia each day. Some had been dispatched to White Lake, there to prepare for the coming conflict in Edessa.
More preparations were made for the first stage of the war. Tallies of men were drawn up, along with lists of supplies to be stockpiled in the White Lake border city facing Edessa. Paths were scouted, safe villages marked, and requests for cooperation sent to the border towns and cities.
While the machinery of the Shogunate prepared for its first move into Edessa, the Lord Shogun’s condition continued to deteriorate. His left eye baffled the physicians. Everything he saw through it had turned the color of blood.
It was enough to make him consider wearing an eyepatch like Sir Michael.
Even so, Lansius turned his attention back to governance. It seemed more important than attending court sessions, which had begun to feel like a chore.
Many of those who attended the court were members of local families, eager to curry favor. But with his sickness worsening, he had more important matters to spend his strength on.
Seated in his study, Lansius gazed at the local maps framed beneath a magnificent sheet of glass. Small labels had been affixed with animal glue, marking roads, rivers, hills, and places the surveyors had found noteworthy.
He read through the reports. This was the second year of searching for valuable resources in Lowlandia.
And yet, even with nomadic riders and several aerial reconnaissances, the surveys had yielded little. They had gained more geographical knowledge, but found nothing truly worthwhile. It was only to be expected. Not all raw materials could be spotted from above ground.
Korimor remained the only known place with a resource of special value: a cave rich with bats, and thus his only steady source of fertilizer and, more importantly, saltpeter for rudimentary explosives.
A clay grenade, like those used by the Mongols in their conquest, was not entirely out of reach. The alchemists and slingers already used fire bottles to great effect.
Other than that, he still hoped to find iron or coal deposits. Iron would feed his workshops. Coal would spare his forests. Copper would open the door to other valuable deposits. But such things were dreams unless the land chose to show its bones.
Lansius could only be patient. He had been lord for barely three years.
He leaned back for a moment and massaged the skin around his eye. Reading documents had become difficult, even nauseating, with one eye seeing constant red. He had tried wearing an eyepatch, but deemed it unnecessary.
On a whim, he took another parchment from the table.
It was the latest report on the city wall.
He read it. The city wall would need another year before it could fully serve its purpose, and two more years before all the towers and defensive structures were complete.
The construction was mostly according to plan. There had been no costly mistakes, and accidents remained few.
Korelia’s stone quarries had helped greatly. Transporting stone was slow and costly, and now he understood why the castle had been built here in the first place. The stone was a valuable resource. There was even a vein of marble nearby, not as fine as those from richer lands, but good enough for their needs.
He set down the parchment and took another. This one concerned the spinning wheel and included a rough drawing of the design. It had taken months, but they had finally completed a revised model. The Office of Works had ordered three dozen to be distributed before winter, when households would spend more time indoors spinning thread.
With this, Korelians, even the nomads, could turn wool and flax into thread much faster. In time, it would lower the cost of cloth and clothing, while increasing the income of the weavers.
The next parchment spoke of spring-bed production and barbed wire. Both were improving despite several setbacks. Raw materials still had to be imported, and as the industries grew, they required steadier supplies. Fortunately, his market posts and the southern trade routes had proven successful, promising livelier and safer roads for merchants.
In his third year as its Lord, Korelia was no longer a remote place. It had become the heart of the Shogunate. Goods flowed toward her, and trade continued to flourish.
Lastly, there were several interesting letters addressed to him. One request stood out from the rest.
It came from intellectuals who asked for the continuation of the Trojan War epic.
“The Iliad,” Lansius muttered.
He had not had the time to continue the story. He checked who had penned the letter and found that it came from a city in Midlandia.
“They read it there too?” he muttered, surprised.
No wonder his scribes had allowed the letter to reach him. They must have been proud of the achievement, for a story born in Lowlandia to be acknowledged by the intellectuals of Midlandia.
What had started as a simple tool for teaching letters had drawn the attention of learned men beyond Lowlandia.
Now, with the Shogunate settling into the dull labors before winter, Lansius felt a surge of higher purpose and called for his army of scribes. Thus, he spent several days finishing what he had started.
***
Great Keep
After four days, the second half of the Iliad was taking shape. Lansius had dictated what he remembered, then revised parts of it as sharper details returned, along with small turns of the tale that had eluded him during the first and second dictations.
The scribes were exhausted. It was a long story.
Lansius did not have the heart to tell them about the Odyssey, the voyage home of the hero Odysseus.
Deep inside, he wanted to continue, but he knew his strength had deserted him. Even staying awake had become a torment.
Despite Ingrid’s return from the monastery, the red vision persisted. Even the physicians summoned from neighboring domains could offer no help.
That night, Lansius spoke with Audrey about their title. They had yet to send their answer to the Duke.
Lying in bed, Lansius explained why he believed they were on a path toward future conflict.
“It is simply against the natural order for a weaker faction to rule over a stronger vassal. If the Duke only holds Tiberia, even with the ruined capital, then he will be a weak king. I do not know whether supporting him is wise. He may try to weaken us, perhaps by sending us to war for his own benefit.”
Audrey, lying beside him, drew a sharp breath as she watched him from the side. “Can they simply leave us be?”
“It depends on whether Bengrieve will allow it.”
Audrey frowned. “What does he have to do with this?”
“Duke Louis is old and frail. I would not be surprised if he does not last the winter.” Lansius snorted, aware of the irony. Here he was, speaking of another man’s failing body, when he himself might not last the night.
Audrey was taken aback. Carefully, she asked, “You are saying Bengrieve seeks the crown?”
“Likely,” Lansius answered. “And when the time comes, I fear we will be either his greatest ally or his greatest obstacle.”
Audrey stirred, her gaze fixed on the canopy above the bed. “Is it possible that you are overthinking this? I mean, we should be able to refuse if they demand that we join their wars.”
“Oh, we can,” Lansius replied. “This is merely the worst case. But remember, we are dealing with Bengrieve. He can plot in ways that put more pressure on us. The first thing that comes to mind is the Duke’s future coronation. If we are invited, refusing to attend may be taken as an insult. But if we go, anything can happen at such a gathering. He might even try to seize one of us.”
Her eyes wandered back to him. “Then we'll find a way to send someone in our place. A delegate.”
“I doubt an oath can be sworn by another in our stead. That might draw their ire. But with the crisis in the east, we may have enough reason to avoid attending.”
Audrey inhaled sharply. “What if we simply reject the title?”
Lansius chuckled. “Believe it or not, that is worse. Rejecting it means refusing to honor the Imperium. That puts us at risk with our own nobles, many of whom still support it.”
“Why does this feel like a trap?”
“Politically,” Lansius said, “it is.”
Audrey pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why does everything look so grim?”
Lansius chuckled.
She turned and held him tight. “How can you still laugh?”
“It's a good fortune that I am this sick,” he explained. “If I am bedridden, then he cannot do much. He can demand all he wants, but the Shogunate can claim that the count is ill and no one can mobilize the troops. It will be our greatest insult to their scheme.”
Hearing that, Audrey gave a small, unwilling laugh. Soon, it softened into something warmer.
After a few moments of silence, she said, “It is absurd that we are talking about accepting or rejecting a high noble title. Since when did we become this powerful? Even Gilly will become a viscount when he comes of age.”
“He will need to earn it,” Lansius said. “Authority is dangerous in the hands of those who do not understand the weight of their power.”
“We will give him a good mentor.”
“Yeah,” Lansius nodded. “We will do that.”
As the night grew late, Audrey said, “You should sleep.”
Lansius gazed at her, committing her face to memory once more. “Then I count on you.”
“Sleep well, love.”
“I wish I could see you in my dream.”
“You will see me,” Audrey whispered. “You will.”
“Good night, then.”
He closed his eyes. There was tension and fear, but sleep took him without struggle.
Still, with his condition largely unexplained and his vision still stained red, the arrangement remained in place. If he slipped into too deep a sleep, they were to wake him.
Audrey took turns with Squire Margo, Carla, and a trusted half-kin. Through the long hours, one of them always kept watch beside his bed.
Fortunately, when morning came, Lansius still opened his eyes.
Despite the sleep, his condition had not improved. The rest had given him only a meager amount of strength.
Still, Lansius pressed on. He could not bring himself to waste what little time and strength remained to him. After dictating the Iliad, even he felt the old truth pressing on him.
Men were mortal, but their choices outlive them.
...
Outside, the city settled into the long rhythm before winter. It was a rare lull, a time for rest, reflection, and uneasy waiting. During this time, his court finally learned what had become of the campaign against the Mountain Clans.
A report from Farkas had arrived at last.
“A victory, My Lord,” Sir Michael rejoiced as he submitted the report to the council gathered in the hall.
At once, his staff and allies congratulated Lansius, who thought the praise misplaced. “The honor should fall to the young captain and his troops.”
Soon after, he arranged for Farkas to receive the full rank of captain, along with a substantial bonus. His command staff, officers, and men-at-arms would also receive promotions and rewards, each according to his merits.
This was a sweet conclusion to their long and bitter campaign against the smugglers, who had tormented them since their first year in Korelia. Their hands had been in everything: the starvation tactics against Korelia, the attempted rebellions in Three Hills and Korimor, and the conflict in Corinthia and Kapua.
With the clan stronghold, a fortified city named Clavieras, finally conquered, everyone could breathe a little easier.
However, as the council went through the details supplied by officials in Farkas’ army, their relief faded, and their concern returned.
Lansius had given Farkas only enough men to take a small town, not a city of ten thousand souls. While his victory was brilliant, holding such a city so far beyond the Shogunate’s reach could prove troublesome.
Worse, after reading the details, Sir Michael realized the scale of the matter was far beyond anything they had assumed. “There are at least a dozen fortified cities and towns in the Five Peaks area. They believe the region is roughly the size of several baronies."
The revelation shocked the council. None of them had imagined the region to be so vast.
“Based on their description, it is probably like capturing South Hill and Corinthia all at once,” Lord Evander muttered.
“Granted, Sir Servius is coming from the north, and we have conquered Clavieras,” Sir Michael replied.
The older lord nodded. “Then the question is whether the clans will try to besiege Clavieras.”
“We need to send reinforcements,” Lady Ella said. Dawn, too, had reason to see the threat ended, for the clans had long plagued their territories.
“But who?” Ingrid, the chamberlain asked. “The two bannerets are injured. The First Brigade is maintaining our watch over northern Midlandia and Elandia. The Second Brigade, the Bone Breakers, will be inactive this winter, leaving only a token force to defend Canardia from possible unrest.”
No one challenged her.
Ingrid continued, “Our last strength is in Ornietia, mostly in training, under the command of the last banneret, Sir Omin. Even that force is poised to lend half its strength eastward, to bolster our border towns against the conflict in Edessa.”
“We still have the Shogunate reaction force,” Sir Michael said.
“That force is for emergencies, at the Lord Shogun's discretion,” Ingrid replied. “And if we call every problem an emergency, then we have no reserve at all.”
“How about Sir Arius and his Crimson Knights?” Sir Michael suggested.
Sir Arius was Lord Jorge’s cousin, a valiant knight who had taken part in the early campaign against the Mountain Clans.
Lord Evander shook his head. “No. I doubt Lord Jorge would allow Sir Arius and his loyalists to leave Three Hills. Sir Arius is the city’s appointed administrator, and with Lord Jorge wintering in Korelia as agreed, his departure would leave the city exposed. The smugglers might take it, and that would hurt us far worse than losing Clavieras.”
Audrey, who attended the meeting, turned to Lansius.
Lansius glanced at her and gave a small nod to calm her. Then, to the council, he said, “I know who to send. An old friend, and he is nearby.”
Everyone exchanged glances. With so many forces already being readied for Edessa, it seemed there was no one left to send, at least no one who could inspire confidence.
Treating the matter as settled, Lansius moved to the next issue at hand.
“Scribe,” he called, as the older scribe penned the name of the man who would lead the reinforcements and sealed the letter.
“My Lord.” The younger scribe stepped forward.
To the council, Lansius explained, “With us preparing to move against Navalnia, we cannot afford to antagonize Duke Louis and Earl Bengrieve.”
“Indeed,” Lord Evander answered.
Lansius turned to the younger scribe. “Prepare a suitable answer for me. The Lady and I shall accept the titles of countess and count. I shall also send them one hundred Lowlandian horses. I don't want them to see us as petty allies.”
Sir Michael nodded. “Since they are horses, it will serve as both gratitude and a contribution to their war effort.”
“I hope they will see it that way,” Lansius said.
Audrey, at his side, made no comment. She already understood why they had chosen to accept the title. If Duke Louis or Bengrieve ever claimed the mantle of monarch or emperor, they would use Lansius’ condition and the crisis in Edessa to keep their distance.
Their stance was clear enough. They would accept the honor, but make no pledge beyond it.
As the scribe finished writing what was needed, Lansius asked the council, “It is time to send word to Edessa. Any objections?”
Lansius looked to Audrey and Ingrid. The two had not taken part in the council meeting, though both had been briefed.
Neither objected.
Lady Ingrid spoke. “My Lord, while I do not like the thought of helping the Margrave, your decision is sound. Better Edessa bleed than us.”
Lansius inhaled deeply and said, “Send instructions for our agents in Edessa. Tell the local commanders, governors, and village elders that while Midlandia is not in shape to fight a war, Lowlandia will ride. Let them know that hope is alive and supplies are coming. And when Navalnia’s main army arrives, the Shogunate shall come to their aid.”
“They had better give you lands for this,” Audrey remarked.
“Plenty of lands,” Lansius answered. “Pastoral lands.”
Lord Evander snorted and said to the hall, “Only fitting for the Empire of the Steppes.”
***
Lansius
Half a month had passed, and all of Lowlandia braced for the coming winter. In Korelia, travelers and merchants dwindled to a trickle. Only a few messengers on horseback still came and went through the gates.
The fields around the city lay fallow, their stubble dark beneath the low sky. Almost all outside work had ceased as the chill wind began to bite.
The horse breeders took their herds on one last run beyond the city before the upcoming snowfall. Meanwhile, the shepherds began culling the weakest sheep, the ones unlikely to survive the harsh winter.
The duck breeders did things differently. They built fences around the woodland and prayed the ducks would accept it and remain within the enclosure until spring.
No barn could withstand their wrath. Despite being creatures of lake and marsh, the great ducks could endure snow well enough, using their broad wings to cover most of their bodies and legs. They would forage through the woods, make their great nests, and huddle together in a single flock to share warmth.
Inside the city, the Korelians turned to their winter crafts. Workshops that had stood quiet during the harvest season opened again, and the making of crossbows and bolts resumed, just as it had the previous year.
Around this time, Lord Jorge arrived in a grand procession of carriages and carts. He brought with him a hundred mounted escorts, the first spoils from Clavieras that had reached Three Hills, and captives taken from the war in the mountains. A half-kin was also present, adding further spectacle to the unexpected parade.
With the mansion he had built still unfinished, Lord Jorge accepted Lansius’ offer and took the old Korelia castle as his winter residence. It was, after all, the place where he had been born and raised.
After learning of Lansius’ sickness, Lord Jorge insisted that his family physician treat him. Lansius consented, but the treatment brought little change. Some remedies soothed his nerves and calmed his anxiety, but nothing more.
More days passed in near idleness.
One day, wearing a winter coat and standing near the fireplace in his study, Lansius felt the creeping dread that he was reaching his limit.
He turned toward the window and saw the silver airship in flight, likely after a round of maintenance. He had stated before that even with fuel scarce and expensive, they were not to compromise on maintenance and testing. Seeing it in the air again, he was glad they had kept the vessel in good shape.
His own airship, the Pride of Korimor, had also undergone maintenance after bringing Ingrid back from the monastery. With snowfall relatively mild in Korelia, and with the partial shelter built against the city wall, the city was well suited to protect the airships from the worst of the elements.
Seeing them cared for brought him a measure of joy, enough to keep the dread at bay for a while.
For the last several days, he had listened less to the physicians and drank ale or wine whenever he wished. Somehow, the closer winter came, the more certain he became that his life was nearing its end.
It might have been his mind turning against him, but it felt too real.
He closed his right eye and saw the world through his left, stained red. It was dreary and ugly and served no purpose.
Lansius sighed.
Even while standing, he sometimes saw flashes, and at times the image of a deep chasm staring back at him.
Trusting his premonition, he had arranged for one last carriage ride the previous day. It brought him to the white marble obelisk, where he offered his final respects to the fallen soldiers. Before the monument, he whispered that he might see them soon.
He had also ridden to the Eastern City, where he saw rows of trees and fresh green growth along the roads. Somehow, Calub had managed to raise a line of windbreak trees, likely through purchases and donations from the neighboring communities.
Today, too, he spent the day as he wished. No commitments.
He remained by the window, taking in the scenery before winter blanketed everything in snow.
Would I see the snow this year?
Lansius suddenly jerked awake. He had nearly fallen asleep again. Now he found himself already in bed, surrounded by his family. From the glow of the lanterns, it was already sundown.
“It's enough. You're tired,” Audrey said. She was just as sleep-deprived. After several weeks, the strain had taken its toll on them both.
It was after supper, Lansius recalled. There had been another lapse. His awareness was failing. A few times now, he could not recall what he had done, as if hours had been erased from him.
Yet Lansius did not panic. Propped against the pillows, he remembered why he had called for the scribe. His mind had gone to gravely ill parents who wrote letters to their children, knowing they would not live to see them grown. He had intended to do the same.
The scribe had already written several letters’ worth while Audrey, Tanya, and Arryn watched. Cecile and Calub were present as well, standing quietly in the chamber.
To the scribe, Lansius said, “Let us continue. I need to say more, for when Gilly has grown.”
Audrey said nothing, only bit her lip. Tanya and Arryn stood quietly nearby, sobbing.
“It's only a contingency,” Lansius said, trying to ease them. But his tired eyes gave little comfort.
He spent another hour dictating the letters until he was satisfied. They were not only letters, but instructions as well, his wishes for how Gilly should be taught, whom he should trust, and what kind of man he should be raised to become.
Afterward, they left Lansius and Audrey alone in their chamber.
Only then did he notice the distant cheering from outside. “Why do I hear cheering?”
“It's the men,” Audrey said softly. “They are still celebrating your victory against the smugglers. Many wish to travel to Clavieras.”
“I see,” Lansius said.
It was all he could offer.
When darkness finally settled, Lansius found himself deeply anxious. The dread manifested fully inside his mind.
Audrey noticed. Without a word, she shifted closer and opened her arms to him.
“Come here,” she said gently. “Rest your head against me.”
Lansius obeyed. He no longer had the strength to pretend otherwise.
Audrey held him close, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other resting over his shoulder. “Everything is going to be all right,” she whispered.
Her warmth anchored him to the world when so much of him felt ready to drift away.
“I am here,” Audrey said, her voice soothing the fear inside him. “I'll protect you.”
“I love you, Drey,” he whispered. It was his last.
Audrey lowered her face to his hair and held him tighter. “You must be very tired,” she said, her voice trembling despite her gentleness. “Sleep now, my hero.”
At last, he fell asleep in Audrey’s embrace, breathing in her scent as though it were the last warm thing left in the world.
Sleep took him like a plunge into the deep sea.
Down and down he sank, beyond sound, beyond pain, into something vast and bottomless. Yet for once, he did not fight it. This was the rest he had wanted for so long, the rest denied to him.
Peace came first.
Then the red darkness opened and welcomed him in full.
***
Korelia
The Korelians still spoke of their Lord and his latest victory against the Mountain Clans. Wherever he went, it seemed, victory followed. Clavieras had fallen, the smugglers were broken, and men in taverns spoke of traveling there one day to see the secret city above the mountains.
They also spoke fondly of seeing him at the white marble obelisk a few days earlier, where he’d gone to honor the fallen. To them, it proved again that their Lord remembered the men who’d died under his banner.
None of them knew it would be the last time they saw him awake.
Behind the walls of his House, the Lord Shogun had succumbed to the mysterious illness. For two weeks, the truth remained guarded by family, physicians, and sworn attendants. Only when the third week came did the heralds step forth and announce that Lord Lansius had fallen into a deep sleep, caused by wounds from his battle with the Lich Mother that had never fully healed.
The announcement struck Korelia like thunder under a clear sky.
When the news spread, men fell silent. Women whispered prayers to the Ancients. Veterans of the wall stood as if another siege had begun, only this time there was no enemy to fight.
All over the city, commoners abandoned their work and stood in silence. Laborers came down from the unfinished walls. Merchants closed their stalls. By noon, a crowd had gathered before the new Great Keep, the crowning work of his rule, still smelling of fresh stone and timber.
That night, a massive vigil began. Even in the bitter cold, thousands of Korelians prayed for him. He was the man who had made their dreams possible, and now he had been taken from them too soon.
Not knowing whether he would ever recover, the House quietly began preparing for his funeral.
By the Lady’s account, the Lord Shogun was still only in his mid-twenties.
The city wall had not yet reached its full height. The new optical telegraph towers he had ordered were not yet finished. The fountains, bathhouse, library, and myriad workshops still bore the marks of fresh labor.
Korelia was slowly becoming the city he had imagined, but the Lord who had raised it no longer walked among them.
...
Two weeks passed since the announcement. The city remained in sorrow, heavy with doubt over their Lord, whom many now believed to be near death.
Despite the fear, the Shogunate stood firm. There were no rumors of dissolution, no whispers of infighting. The nobles, surprisingly, acted in unity.
From the first day, Sir Michael and Lady Astrid donated bread and hot soup for the pilgrims and the crowds who kept vigil. Lord Evander, Lady Ella, and Lord Jorge were not absent either. They appeared among the people and openly joined the prayers for the Lord Shogun, lending confidence to the Grand Alliance.
If succession had already begun in silence, then it was being handled with exceptional care.
Lady Audrey was often seen on the balcony overlooking the city, looking stronger than ever. Sometimes she brought her precious son with her, and the city rejoiced at the sight. In that little boy, who looked down at them with a frown and little interest, the Korelians saw the continuation of their Lord.
Then one day, the first snowfall reached Korelia. Overnight, the whole city and the surrounding plains vanished beneath a white sheet.
The snowfall lasted for three days.
And when the snow finally eased, a sudden merriment rose through the city.
It was unusual. Winter in Korelia had long been seen as a cruel thing, a merciless dread that stole warmth and lives in the night.
But this year was different.
Lady Ella hurried toward the courtyard and found guards, maids, and servants gathering small bundles from the snow. They were wrapped in colored cloth and tied with bright ribbons, each no larger than a children's fist. Some had landed softly on the fresh snow. Others had burst open, scattering little cakes and torn wrappings across the white courtyard.
The commotion soon drew Lady Audrey’s attention, and she came down from the keep.
“My Lady.” The servants and guards curtsied or bowed as she approached.
Lady Audrey looked at the bundles in their hands. “What is that?”
Lady Ella stepped forward. “My Lady, they are winter gifts. We call them cookies. Small cakes, baked from flour, eggs, milk, and a little honey, if we can spare it. Some are spiced. Some are mixed with nuts or dried fruit.”
Lady Audrey’s gaze moved from the ribbons to the scattered cakes in the snow.
“It's a tradition in Dawn,” Lady Ella explained. “We celebrate it one week before the year turns.”
Lady Audrey immediately looked upward. “Does this mean Lord Avery is here?”
As if in answer, more bundles fluttered down from above, bright ribbons twisting in the cold air. They fell across Korelia like strange little blessings.
Seeing Lady Ella so bright with excitement, Audrey allowed herself a small smile. “I am glad you are happy. We really could use more happy faces around here.”
“My Lady,” the red-haired girl quickly said, “there is another reason to be merry. My grandfather has learned of the Lord Shogun’s condition.”
Audrey’s smile faded. She wasn't sure where this was going. Hope had hurt her too often these past weeks, but she forced herself to ask, “Go on.”
“If he knew and still chose to celebrate,” Lady Ella said, her voice trembling with excitement, “then he must have something.”
For the first time in many days, Audrey felt a small, dangerous spark of hope. “You mean?”
“Yes, it's possible he has found something to cure the Lord Shogun’s condition.”
For the first time in weeks, Audrey felt hope return.
Above the keep, the clouds stirred. A massive black airship descended through the pale winter sky, its hull made for war parting the mist like some living leviathan.
“Grandpa!” Lady Ella cried, unable to contain herself.
High above them, a man in a heavy fur coat stood near the black airship's rail, singing, “I dream of a sweet Christmas...”
All of Korelia watched in awe. Children pointed toward the sky, toward the source of the sweet little cakes. “Look!”
The black prow emerged fully from the thick cloud, followed by the vast belly of the ship. Snow swirled around its hull. More small bundles fell through the pale winter air, bright with ribbons against the white.
The old lord’s voice carried again, half-lost to the wind. “Of hearths and roads so far away...”
Lord Avery of Dawn had arrived.
***
PS: This is a massive chapter. I'm so dead.🫠
So, we finally hit winter. Who do you think Lansius selected to send reinforcements to Clavieras? He said it's an old friend, and he's nearby.🤔
Anyway, Lansius is in a coma. I actually researched this, and the ancient Greeks already knew about it. The word coma came from koma, with the same meaning.
All right, saying more will ruin the aftertaste.
Till next chapter!
As always, gratitude for supporting Horizon of War! 💎💖🦆