One year had passed since Harsk Fenward had severed the purse string.
One year since the Ministry of Whispers had successfully located and annihilated the Korthane intelligence node in Vespira, vaporizing the Arbiter's logistical command structure and completely cutting off the flow of anti-magic weaponry into the Sovereign Imperium.
It was, on paper, a flawless strategic victory.
Sera Myrvalis sat in the shadows of the Grand Ordinator's private alcove, her black claws resting on a massive stack of demographic reports. Her gray archivist robes felt incredibly heavy.
The victory was a lie.
