Baines crossed the threshold of the Darkan gate, his eyes narrowing at the gathered crowd, a mix of nobles, clan members, and curious onlookers. His gaze settled on the figure at the forefront: the 5th Imperial Commander, resplendent in a golden robe emblazoned with five sun stars, the fabric rippling as if kissed by divine light. His hair, a cascade of gold and cream, framed piercing green eyes that marked him as a battle mage of fearsome renown.
Baines's memory flashed to the last time he saw the commander, his single, cataclysmic strike from the sky. It was a blow that had ended the war in an instant.
Dolik, beside him, froze, whispering, "Shit, 5th Imperial Commander," before bowing deeply. Baines, sensing the gravity, mirrored the gesture, his respect calculated.
