The morning sun rose over Winter's Crown, its golden light casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets. The city was quieter than usual, its people subdued after the night's chaos. Though Vale had been captured, the fear he'd sown lingered, curling like smoke in the minds of the citizens.
Damien stood on the balcony of the palace, his steel-gray eyes scanning the horizon. From this vantage point, he could see the remnants of the battle—the scorched walls of the eastern gate, the scattered debris from hastily constructed barricades, and the somber figures of soldiers standing watch.
Behind him, the faint sound of footsteps broke the silence. He turned to see Lady Erynn approaching, her silver hair gleaming in the sunlight. Her sharp, discerning eyes studied him as she came to stand beside him.
"You look tired," she said, her voice smooth but tinged with concern.
