The morning sun hit the grey stones of the Fortress, warming the air that usually carried the chill of the northern mountains.
Damien walked through the main courtyard, his boots clicking rhythmically against the newly paved cobblestones.
He took a deep breath. The air no longer smelled of rust and dried blood. It smelled of sawdust, baking bread, and the ozone tang of mana-welders.
To his left, Leona walked with a heavy, predatory grace. She had grown taller in the last few months, her golden hair now a wild mane that framed her sharp features.
Her new left arm, the Void-Gauntlet hung by her side, the black segmented metal gleaming under the sunlight.
She was still getting used to the weight, flexing the mechanical fingers periodically as if testing their reality.
To his right, Lyra moved like a whisper. Her Shadow-Weave Cloak blurred her outline, making her look like a ghost caught in the daylight.
