Chapter 57

• The war room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the roaring fire that snapped and hissed in the massive hearth. Shadows danced across the stone walls, where old maps and blood-stained flags hung like silent witnesses to a hundred wars.
• Dante stood at the head of the long obsidian table, surrounded by his most trusted warriors. His once warm eyes were now two smoldering coals, hollow and unreadable. Every move he made was calm, exact, cold.
• The map lay before him aged, cracked, and now partially soaked in dried blood. His gloved hand hovered over it as he surveyed the territories.