The night before everything changed felt wrong.
Too quiet and far too still.
Liam stood on the castle's highest balcony, looking out at Eldhar sprawled below. The city glowed with essence-light from thousands of buildings, demons going about their evening routines, unaware or unwilling to acknowledge that tomorrow, two hundred thousand of their kind would begin marching toward probable death.
Behind him, the castle bustled with final preparations.
Commanders verifying supply manifests. Quartermasters distributing equipment.
Priests from the Nameless Litany blessing weapons and armor with prayers that might or might not make a difference.
Tomorrow at dawn, the largest demon military force assembled in three centuries would begin the seventeen-day march to Sanctum Lux.
And Liam Cross—Lord Azra—the Primordial Demon who'd gone from failed actor to military commander in months—stood alone wondering if he'd led an entire empire into collective suicide.
