(Kieran POV)
The border skirmish began at dawn, with the first light of the sun painting the eastern passes in gold and crimson.
I felt the disturbance the moment it started — a cold, oily ripple in the storm currents, the unmistakable signature of a minor demon remnant. Not the full strength of the old Azrael cult, but a lingering fragment — desperate, hungry, and foolish enough to test the new peace.
My storm-riders and I were already mounted when the raven arrived from Blackspire. The message was brief: Minor incursion at the eastern border. Damien requests aid if available.
I didn't hesitate.
We rode hard through the passes, lightning crackling along my spear as the storm answered my call. By the time we reached the contested ridge, the fighting had already begun.
