The silver light of the almost full moon was falling on Darland's snowy streets and reflecting from the snow on the rooftops and ground. On a clear night like this, even without any street lights, Reynard didn't need any magical lanterns.
From his perch on a workshop's rooftop, he could see the approaching group of magi clear as day.
All five of them wore near-identical helmets, breastplates, and fur coats. An empty hexagon—symbol of the Order of Winter—was drawn on them.
Reynard checked that all his weapons were easy to access despite his own fur coat, cast Spirit Armor on himself, and jumped off the rooftop to meet his guests.
They stopped in the middle of a street, ten paces away from him. The street here was narrow enough that only three people could fit in one row.
Reynard recognized two of the people in front of him. One of them had a recent scar on his cheek—the wound was healed with magic or potions, but not perfectly.
