Dawn crept over the eastern horizon, its first golden rays barely piercing the thick mist that hung over the capital. A somber silence clung to the air, as though the city itself were holding its breath.
At the northern gate of Savadra, two grim processions slowly converged.
The first to arrive were the prisoners, their wrists bound in iron cuffs, ankles chafed from days in chains. They were flanked on all sides by fifty armored soldiers. Dust clung to their clothes, most of which were tattered remnants from their time in the dungeons.
Despite this, General Odin Norse and his sons stood tall, their backs unbent, eyes forward. Their steps were heavy from hunger and thirst, but their pride was intact, a final tribute to the fallen honor of the Norse army.
Moments later, a second group arrived from the south. A hush fell over the crowd gathered near the gates.
