With Leona, Alaric, and the others gone, much at the camp didn't change
The war was now over, and tensions were down; cheers still rained through the night.
The celebration of victory was loud in the main camp, but here in the shadows of the supply wagons, it was quiet.
Alfred, the loyal steward of the Voss family, stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
His suit was impeccable, despite the dust of the battlefield. He adjusted his glasses, the moonlight reflecting off the lenses, hiding his eyes.
After the end of the battle and making sure there was no second wave, Lyra had called for him to come over after making sure the dwarven capital was safe
"You requested a meeting, Miss Lyra?"
Lyra stepped out from behind a stack of crates.
She looked pale, her skin still bearing faint, golden scars from where the Damien's Will had nearly cracked her vessel. But her eyes were sharp.
"I did," Lyra said, her voice raspy. "You have news."
