The day had faded to late afternoon, and her whole body hurt so much that it gave way to numbness. Her feet tingled at first, but now dragged like stones along the ground. She was thirsty, she was tired, and she was hungry. Her hair clung to the dried blood on her face, and she lacked the strength to wipe it away. Sweat drenched her clothes under her armor, and her breathing was shallow and weak. The world was reduced to her left foot, and then her right foot. Vhalla pressed onward and onward to somewhere that she had never been. Somewhere that might not exist.

Somehow, even in the midst of exhaustion, her ears picked up the murmur of motion from behind her. It was the whisper of the forest, indicating that people were after her again. The one who had fled had made it back to his tree city, and Vhalla’s enemy was already advancing with reinforcements.

The sounds began to grow and the sun hung low in the sky. A walk turned into a run and Vhalla realized that this was it, the last of her energy. When her feet stopped they would not move again for some time. In truth, if she fell, she would likely not ever rise as they would be upon her.

Judging from the rustle of trees and the consistent din of horses, the Northerners were gaining—and fast. Vhalla cried at the futility of her mission, agony coursing through her. All at once she broke through an artificial tree line into a blackened arc of earth.

The sunset was painfully bright compared to the dim forest, and Vhalla blinked in confusion as she heard a horn ring out to her right. It was a familiar sound that sparked hope in her once more. She turned to see two riders making their way toward her.

It only took a short assessment for Vhalla to be overwhelmed with relief; she collapsed to her knees as they came close enough for her to see that one’s armor was cast in black steel. She looked upon members of the Black Legion and the Imperial swordsmen.

The swordsman dismounted and gracefully drew a thin rapier. Vhalla blinked in a daze. He had a strong jaw, angular features, and straight black hair that fell around his ears. He was so familiar that it was almost like looking at a ghost.

“Who are you?” The man’s sword was at her chin and all familiarity to the crown prince vanished as Vhalla was absorbed by his cerulean eyes.

“Head Major Jax,” she croaked. “I must ... get to Head Major Jax.”

“Who are you?” the Firebearer demanded.

“I must get to ... Head Major Jax.” Vhalla pushed against the ground, ignoring the sword at her neck. Surprisingly, the man let her rise. He was silent and Vhalla’s eyes fell to his sword hand. His gauntlet was plated in gold. “You ... You’re ...” She struggled to remember everything Daniel and Craig had said about the Golden Guard on the march.

“Who are you?” Fire crackled around the fists of the Black Legion soldier, but Vhalla remained focused on the man before her.

“Lord Erion.” She finally remembered the name of the other Golden Guard still at Soricium. The Western man’s eyes grew large with surprise. “Lord Erion Le’Dan of the Golden Guard. Take me to Head Major Jax. The Northerners are coming and we don’t have much time.”

“They won’t cross the patrol line,” he said, neither confirming nor denying his identity. “They know this is our territory now.”

He didn’t realize how sweet the words were to her, and Vhalla swallowed relieved laughter. She kept her face from crumbling into a mess of emotion. “I have a message I must deliver to Head Major Jax. Take me to him now.”

“Who do you think you are? This is Lord Le—”

Erion held up a hand, stopping the man’s defense of his nobility. “I’ll take you to the camp palace.”

“You will?” Vhalla and the Black Legion soldier asked in unison.

“You speak in Southern common with a Cyven accent, and I assume you are meant to deliver whatever is in that bag?” He pointed to the satchel Vhalla didn’t realize she held in a death grip. She was clearly not about to hand it over.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” The Firebearer asked as the Golden Guard mounted his steed.

“A ragged girl? I’ll kill her if she tries anything,” Erion arrogantly proclaimed while reaching out a hand to allow Vhalla to mount.

Vhalla swallowed her pride, and accepted his help into the saddle. He forced her to sit in front, his arms on either side, gripping the reins. Erion spurred his horse forward, and Vhalla gripped its mane.

“What’s your name?” he asked out of earshot of his comrade as they worked their way across the large burnt trek.

“Serien.” Vhalla didn’t know why she lied. “Serien ...” He sounded uncertain.

“Leral.”

Further conversation ceased as they reached the brim of the valley Soricium sat within. Vhalla stared in awe as she saw the full Imperial army for the first time. Hundreds, no thousands, of tents and hovels were constructed down a shallow basin. Vhalla’s heart raced as she saw the true force of the Empire, the greatest achievement of the Emperor Solaris.

At the center stood a giant walled forest, trees even higher than the behemoths Vhalla had witnessed in the jungle. It was the last stronghold of the North. The final remnants of the once legendary sky city and the place Vhalla had been brought to conquer: Soricium.

Soldiers stared in curiosity as they rode down through camp toward a roughly built T-shaped building. Clearly the term “camp palace” had been used in irony. She’d made it, she realized in shock. She’d actually made it to the North.