The Great Gate of Voidmore was a vertical scar of jaggedglass and rusted iron, looming hundreds of feet into the bruised, violet sky. It breathed a constant, freezing mist that smelled of ancient slaughter. For a man like Hellino, the Commander of Heathwat, this place had always been the architectural personification of the enemy—a fortress he had spent a lifetime dreaming of burning to the ground.
But as he stood before the heavy, soul-binding threshold, he was no longer the Commander. He was no longer the man whose shadow alone could steady a front line of terrified infantry.
He was Shasha.
