Mid-afternoon sun poured through sword-shaped lattice windows of Swordmaster City, casting slanted shards of light across the blue-gray flagstones.

Jared and Flaxseed sat in the room. bent over a broad map of the Darkwind Gorge. Around them lay fresh talisman papers, Flaxseed’s newest scouting charms, still humming with faint spiritual residue.

He tapped one sheet with a weathered fingertip. “That place drips with toxic miasma. My charms will carry us for only a short distance before we’re choking on the foulness.”

Their planning shattered beneath the shriek of splintering metal outside, followed by a chorus of shocked cries from the market yard.

Flaxseed shot upright, stuffed his talismans into his tunic, and barked, “D*mn it! Sounds like trouble worth watching!”

Jared was already at the threshold when five armored figures skimmed into view on flying swords.

The man at the forefront wore a gold cloak stitched with a snarling beast, and the sun glared off the sword-shaped brand at the center of his brow, Drystan Hexford, commander of the Celestial Palace’s Sixth Hall.