Duskfire Glacier main title

faust did not speak at first.
the wind moved through the high ridges, a whispering thing that carried old oaths and older ghosts. he stood like the mountain itself—silent, dark, immovable. but when blackfell’s voice faded, when the name of the traitor turned in the mouth of night, the kaan finally nodded.
it was not a nod of agreement. it was confirmation.
then we march, he said, low. steady. the kind of voice that did not rise, because it did not need to. it ruled.
black break will hold us, he affirmed, shifting his stance slightly to face the horizon. we'll move beneath the cover of the cliffs. take the valley, choke them from the roots.
there was no battle fervor in his voice, no firebrand. only cold strategy. a blade drawn in silence.
rally the ashfangs. the old blood. every name that's ever had a stake in darukaal. they will follow it to war.
his gaze flicked toward blackfell. and the moment you find him— his tone dropped, iron and ice, you take his breath.
a pause.
i'll take everything else.