I didn't wait for the northern guards to secure the battlements.
I grabbed Rin's hand and practically flew down the steep, icy stone stairs of the fortress wall. My dark green wool tunic whipped around my legs. Yuki floated grumpily behind us, muttering curses about his frozen toes and the sheer audacity of capital nobles.
By the time I reached the main courtyard, the massive black iron gates were groaning open.
The wind howled, blowing a thick cloud of white snow and gray monster ash into the courtyard. Walking right through the center of it was Akira.
He looked terrible.
His heavy indigo outer robes were singed and torn at the hem. His pink hair, usually tied back so neatly, was a tangled, wild mess plastered to his forehead with sweat. The terrifying, glowing Warlord aura was completely gone. He was leaning heavily on his sheathed katana like a walking stick, his broad shoulders slumped in pure exhaustion.
