A shadow five miles wide crawled across the frozen valleys of the northern plains.
High above the scrub pine and gray granite ridges, the central keep of the Iron Citadel glided through the clouds.
Four hundred feet of solid meteorite iron hung suspended in midair, buoyed by a churning cushion of crimson gravity mist.
Beneath its floating keel, twenty thousand elite Iron-Crown guards marched across the frozen mud in locked columns.
Their black lacquered armor clattered with rhythmic menace.
Iron-banded wagons carried siege bolts as thick as tree trunks, while three-horned war beasts dragged heavy bronze ammunition chests.
Grand Regent Malakor stood at the flying keep’s forward observation bastion, gripping the freezing iron parapet with his armored gauntlet.
His eyes glowed like two embers of banked coal.
