Elric dismounted his horse in the main courtyard, the animal's hooves clattering loudly against the cobblestones. He handed the reins to a waiting stable hand and paused for a moment, adjusted the silver-threaded cuffs of his black tunic. He looked up at the palace spires, which were still stained with black streaks of smoke, before turning his gaze toward the grand staircase.
Standing there, looking like a statue of weathered granite carved from the Northern peaks, was his father. The elder Aldenar was dressed in formal military regalia, his broad chest decorated with the iron medals of the North. He didn't look tired; he looked dangerous.
"You're here," Calixto grunted as Elric ascended the steps. His eyes, sharp and unforgiving as a hawk's, scanned his son for any signs of lingering injury. He noted the faint green remnants of Verona's salve on Elric's jaw but made no comment on it.
