The grand courtyard of the high thrones, which had stood for centuries as a cold, frozen monument to pristine, stagnant glass, had transformed into a sprawling, chaotic staging ground of historical transition. The air, once so thin, sterile, and choked with the artificial tang of ozone, was now thick and heavy with the intoxicating scent of thawing earth, damp moss, and wild pine needles. These natural scents were aggressively pushing their way upward through the fractures of the shattered glass floorboards, reclaiming the territory that had been stolen from the wild.Everywhere one looked, the highland wolves, the dark elven scouts, and the shadow-stalkers were moving with a synchronized, high-speed discipline. The frantic adrenaline of the battle had settled into a rhythmic, purposeful energy. Supply wagons were being loaded with the bare essentials for the trek back, heavy leather straps were being buckled over horses, and armor was being checked for structural integrity. The war f
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