Blackspire Bastion stood like a jagged spear against the storm lit skies of Iron March. Its towers loomed with grim resolve, and today, it was preparing for a guest unlike any other. The Human Arbiter himself, Gareth of the Iron Mantle. The citadel's usual cold welcome was even colder than usual, laced with a tension so thick the guards dared not meet his gaze.
Gareth was furious. His steps echoed like thunder through the war chiseled halls of the Grand War Chamber as he entered, each step laced with silent rage. The last meeting of the Circle of Arbiters still burned in his memory. It had been an insult, a staged mockery. None of the other Arbiters had taken the fall of Holy Verrenate seriously. Over twenty thousand trained soldiers, gone. Erased from Verthalis like a dropped torch into snow and the others had the gall to scoff or remain silent.
