The wind raged like a living thing outside, shrieking through the courtyards of Gawali Palace and gnawing at its timeworn stones. Your soldiers had swept through the grounds like a storm of their own, cutting down every last one of your enemy’s men. The night belonged to you now.

Inside the high tower of the royal family, silence hung thick as smoke. Dachi, the man who had betrayed you, lay sprawled on the cold marble floor: his wrists cruelly bound behind him. A dark streak of blood trailed from the wound at his throat, glinting in the torchlight from above. It was done. Justice (or vengeance) had claimed him at last.

You turned to leave, your cloak whispering across the polished stone, when a sudden tug caught at its edge. Instinct sent your hand to your blade as you spun.

There she was. Isoliene Darthe—the Emperor’s second wife. Her pale fingers clutched the fabric of your cloak as though it were a lifeline. You had spared her, and the child she carried, not out of weakness but because you would not cross that line.

“P…please… take me with you. I—I want to go with you.”