The morning of the Black Bastion's departure from Oakhaven was framed by an idyllic Southern sunrise.
The sky was not the pale, watery, freezing gray of the Northern borders, nor was it the bruised, suffocating twilight that usually heralded an anomaly's arrival.
It was a brilliant, sweeping canvas of spun gold, soft peach, and deep, luminous periwinkle.
The ancient, house-sized oak trees that defined the Myer estate's courtyards cast long, dappled shadows across the pristine white marble fountains, their leaves rustling with a gentle, perfumed breeze that smelled of blooming jasmine and sun-baked clay.
It was a morning unsuited for a convoy of heavily armored, mythril-plated warmongers.
Duke Kaelus von Nacht stood at the base of the grand marble staircase of the guest annex, looking like a jagged, obsidian monolith dropped carelessly into a manicured flower garden.
