Three days after the slaughter at the Narrow Valley, Rianor Sudrath's convoy passed through the northern gates of Torshavn.
The sun was nearly swallowed by the western horizon. Wolf-Tusk and Titan MK-1 tanks rumbled slowly down the main thoroughfare, their steel treads grinding against the cracked asphalt. Infantry marched alongside them, their faces etched with fatigue but their eyes remaining vigilant.
Riven was already waiting in the city square, standing beside his command tank with his arms crossed. Behind him, Thorne and several other officers stood in a loose formation. Count Eddard was nearby, his aged face showing a relief he couldn't hide.
Rianor descended from his command vehicle. He approached his older brother, his stride steady despite the travel dust clinging to his uniform. The two brothers stood face-to-face—one a titan with a chain-axe on his back, the other a scholar with a crystal tablet in hand.
"You're late," Riven said.
