The White Lions of Chrace had ridden from Watcher’s Glen at dawn, their banners of silver and white held high against the rolling mist. Lirael Snowmane, scarred pelt draped across her shoulders, sharpened her woodsman’s axe by the gate of the Lion’s Watch pavilion, eyes fixed on the road north.

Today she would take her place at the side of Prince Caladrion of Yvresse, ensuring no shadow dared mar his journey through Ulthuan’s heartlands.

When the prince arrived she greeted him. Bowing infront of him.

“I ride with you, my prince. No harm will touch your path.”