The sun had reached its zenith when Rianor finally lowered the crystal pager from his ear. Northveil had been reclaimed. Rudigor was gone. His three commanders were dead.
Now, it was time to go home.
Hektor stood beside him, gazing over the ruins of the city he once governed. His face—usually stiff and technical—was transformed. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes. He didn't wipe them away, letting them flow freely.
"Hektor." Rianor turned to him. "I've contacted my father. Engineering teams and materials will be dispatched immediately. Within days, they will arrive. Wood, stone, steel—everything you need."
Hektor exhaled a long, shuddering breath. His hands trembled—not from the cold, but from emotions held back for far too long. "Thank you, Lord Rianor. I... I don't know what to say. This city... I truly thought it was lost forever."
"You don't need to say anything." Rianor patted his shoulder. "Guard this city. I'm placing my trust in you."
