“Aye.” Kaelen hefted his axe. The rune on its blade glowed faintly, a dying ember refusing to go dark. “But it is our execution. We choose the ground. We choose the moment. That is the return of reckoning, knight. Not waiting for a savior. Becoming one.”
Sir Roland’s face was a mask of boiled leather and old ideals. “The beacons signal for aid that does not come.” return of reckoning
“Then we use it,” Kaelen said. “Twenty of us. Dwarfs, men, whatever souls are mad enough to follow. We bypass his army and shatter the ritual. Without the Rotfather’s blessing, his followers will turn on each other within a day.” “Aye