Northern stood at the peak of the tower.
Evening had settled across the mountains, though he hadn't noticed its arrival. Three days had passed while he forged the Scerynx's Hunger in the depths of his own soul, and now the blade rested in his grip with a weight that felt both familiar and new. He stared into the distance, but his gaze held no particular target.
His eyes were unfocused. His attention was elsewhere.
The [Omnisphere] stretched across hundreds of kilometers, and within that vast reach, Northern felt them. Heat signatures. Thousands of them, clustered in formations that had been still for hours but were now beginning to shift. He tracked their movement patterns, noting the rhythm, the coordination, the discipline.
'The Empire believes in its own strength. They'll expect to tear through Ryugan's vanguard and flood the city with sheer numbers.' He followed the flow of bodies through his expanded senses. 'But are they really that predictable?'
Northern shook his head.
