Duskfire Glacier absolute and pure

There was something in the way he carried that title; Kaan’s Warbringer. A blade at the commander’s side, a force that led his armies into blood and glory. Astier’s brow lifted slightly, though the movement was fleeting, erased before it could linger.
„The glacier called to me,” he said, voice even, measured. It was the truth, or at least a shard of it; the only piece he cared to offer. „Faust greeted me at the border, granted me passage.” A decision he suspected Blackfell might scrutinize, but one that had already been made.
His gaze flicked over the dark figure before him, assessing. „The Kaan bestowed that weight upon your shoulders,” he mused, „Warbringer.” The word rolled off his tongue like steel being drawn from its sheath. „How long have you worn it?”
Either Darukaal had just walked out of a war, or was stepping into one. And if it was the latter, well… Astier had always found himself right where the fire was set to burn.