The Thal'Gorin fortress was built from shadow-stone, a dark material with regeneration properties.
The war room where Nyx'ira had gathered the elite guards was deep in the fortress's heart, lit only by the faint purple glow of enchanted crystals embedded in the walls.
Twelve guards stood in a semicircle before her. Each one was a veteran, scarred and hardened by four years of constant warfare.
Their void-like eyes watched their new War Chief with expressions ranging from respect to barely concealed skepticism.
Nyx'ira stood tall despite the weight of Vok'thar's death pressing down on her shoulders.
The shadow-touched blade at her hip felt heavier than it should, as if the weapon itself mourned its previous master.
She'd spent the entire journey back from the titan's cavern trying to figure out what to say, how to explain what had happened.
In the end, she settled on the truth. Or at least as much truth as she dared speak.
