The exodus of the Bloodburn Kingdom's survivors had led them to the towering obsidian gates of the Nightshade Kingdom, their once-proud banners now torn and tattered, their weary bodies moving like ghosts across the desolate landscape.
King Lakhur, the ruler of Nightshade, had granted them asylum, recognizing the bitter plight of a kingdom that once stood as a beacon of power now reduced to nothing but ashes.
The Nightshade Kingdom, a land draped in perpetual twilight, was a fortress in its own right, its mountainous terrain and darkened forests making it an unappealing target for the already weary and battered Draconian forces.
The paths leading into the kingdom were treacherous, narrow ridges that could barely support an army's advance without severe casualties. The draconians, fresh from their conquest, would think twice before attempting to lay siege to another formidable stronghold.
For now, the survivors of the Bloodburn Kingdom could breathe.
