"Eruption?"
Arzhen's lip curled down. The name 'Mount Saede' felt like something tedious from a past he was eager to forget. He could still hear Cecilia's voice, that infuriating, relentless drone of doom, listing seismic mana readings and crustal deformations until he'd wanted to shut her up.
Of course it had erupted. It was a mountain, wasn't it? That's what they did. It was expected anyway, so what? She'd predicted it for years, the northerners had ample warning. If they were too incompetent to heed it, that was their own affair.
The first news of the eruption had already bled across the continent, carried on the frantic, wind-borne cries of Arkai Dawnoro's own messengers. But Arzhen couldn't care less.
A tragedy, certainly, but a northern one. He was about to sleep for the night, planning to issue some perfunctory condolences in the morning.
