Utilia nodded once, narrowing her eyes dangerously as she grinned. "It would be a pleasure, my lord."
Finally, his hand rested on the northern coast. "Thassamira, their coastal heartland, rich with trade ports and military outposts. Lord Valen Darkmoon and Laris, you will cripple their logistics here. Seize their harbors, scatter their convoys. You'll move in silence. The tide will carry your blade."
Valen's voice was smooth and cold. "I'll bring the storm to their shores."
Laris cracked his knuckles. "Let them choke on their own fish oil."
One region remained untouched—the very center of the map, marked by concentric walls and towers. Domereth Valas, the Akerian capital. It pulsed faintly under the spell, a golden hub for every route.
"And this," Arkanos said, his voice dropping, "we do not touch. Not yet. The airships are here. Their heart, their pride. But it is too well-defended. If we rush, we risk failure."
