The tremors arrived sooner than expected.
Rianor sat in the cramped command post—barely large enough for a single stone table and two wooden chairs. The obsidian walls around him pulsed faintly with deep purple runes, serving as the only light source besides the oil lamp on the table. A topographic relief map lay spread before him, bathed in a dim yellow glow. He placed his right palm flat against the cold stone surface. The vibrations traveled through the floor—steady, heavy.
Footsteps. Thousands of them.
Borch materialized silently in the doorway. "Two divisions have entered the western tunnel."
"Only two?" Rianor stared at the map.
"The rest are holding at the cave entrance."
Rianor lightly tapped the stone surface. Grigori wasn't reckless. He was sending two divisions ahead—probing, not launching an all-out assault. A veteran like him wouldn't throw his entire army blindly into the dark without knowing what awaited them.
