The night breeze blows through the camp, sending a chill through the Climont soldiers. Many huddle together, surrounding small fires for warmth.

Drake resides in his quarters, sitting at his table. He is hunched over, grabbing onto his hair as stress rolls through him.

“Milord,” Junet bows as she enters.

“What is it?” His expression is pale, exhaustion lining around his eyes.

“We have received word from the Vojik of the south. They will send a pack of ...