Mikhailis stood at the top of the wall, surrounded by Elowen, Serelith, Lira, and Count Arvis. The cool evening breeze swept over them, rustling the edges of Elowen's robes and the intricate folds of Serelith's dark cloak. The Northern Province had fallen into a lull after repelling the first attack, and the walls were now lined with guards standing at attention, ready for whatever might come next. Mikhailis had his glasses on, a subtle projection in his view that no one else could see.
Rodion's voice crackled in his ear.
