The second night on the road stretched long and restless. Campfires burned low at the edge of the plains, their glow pushing back the dark in flickers rather than certainty.
The Stormborne banners, a silver thunderbolt splitting a black storm cloud on a deep navy Field, with jagged lightning patterns along the edges, sagged weary against the night breeze, though even in weariness they commanded awe.
Soldiers had pitched tents in neat rows, armor stacked beside their bedrolls, laughter carried soft and wary across the fields.
Away from the warmth of the fires stood Valerian Stormborne. He had stripped away neither his armor nor his authority; steel plates caught the firelight like the sheen of a brewing storm.
His gloved hands rested behind him, one gripping the other, and the night wind tugged at his cloak until it snapped like a sail in the gale.
Long strands of his blond hair lifted in the wind, loose from where they had escaped his braids.
