The great halls of Avelorn were still, the scent of blooming moonlilies drifting through stained-glass windows as the court murmured in expectation. Days past, the northern skies had burned—the Norscans had come with fire and steel, their longships clawing at Ulthuan’s shores. But they had broken against her.

Princess Tyria entered alone.

The blood of battle still kissed the hem of her cloak, Sunfang slung at her side. Her golden hair, windswept and loose, shimmered in the soft light as she strode through the hall, past nobles who fell silent at the sight of her. Before the Everking’s dais she paused, then knelt, bowing her head low.

"The tide is turned. The northmen lie broken upon our shores. Ulthuan is safe yet again."

"And I… return to your side, to remain the Everking's champion."