Auren stared down at the battlefield, horror etched across his face.
He had been the one to devise the plan—had chosen this path, had decided that he and Asenya alone would brave this side of the horrific scheme. But how could he have known?
How could he have imagined they would face knights who fought like… Exalteds?
He had never witnessed an Exalted in battle. No one truly had. But there were whispers—rumors passed between mercenaries and soldiers. Exalteds were few, rare as miracles, and their lives so sacred that even wounding one was considered a grievous sin.
Not that anyone had ever been strong enough to try.
Yet the stories persisted. The one time two Exalteds clashed between Provinces, the environment itself bore silent testimony—carved in craters, in silence, in desolation.
Auren's gaze dropped to the clashing knights below.
The moment their weapons met, the world screamed.
