With the great Bastion having fallen the Usurper Mavius had been hounded back to the Red Rose, a less a sanctuary and more a shark tank where treachery was already beginning to scent the blood of his failure.
Alpheo had notched every objective of the campaign into his belt like a hunter counting pelts. With Mesha firmly seated on the Romelian throne, Alpheo had secured a grateful diplomatic buffer state, buying the years of peace necessary for Yarzat to harden its skin.
With the campaign done, he could not finally find refuge to his family once more.
"Your Grace, I thank you for this honor," the voice of Edric echoed in the prince's ears, muffled slightly by the helmet.
