The council chamber was packed to the walls. The council summoned every captain, advisor, and elder who could spare themselves from the defenses. The long table was covered with maps and reports, but at its center lay the fragments from the Rift, their symbols pulsing with a sickly light that seemed to mock the urgency of the moment. The torches flickered in their iron sconces, casting dancing shadows across the grim faces of those gathered.
Torvin stood at the head of the table, his scarred face carved from stone. He had just finished delivering the seismancers' latest report: the seal was weakening faster than predicted, the Rift was pulsing at shorter intervals, and the monster waves were growing more frequent and more brutal. The North was bleeding, and there was no end in sight.
