Aura glides above the besieged city’s mud-churned field, the hem of her immaculate gown trailing deathly silence as thirty hanged corpses pivot in unison at her will. She raises her pale hand, and the Scales of Obedience materialize before the battered city gates, their golden arms gleaming despite the overcast sky. Behind her, Luegner steps from the shadows of a ruined siege tower, his smile too calm for a battlefield. Linie stands quietly to one side, eyes fixed on the parapets, mimicking the tense stances of the knights above. The city’s defenders hesitate, sensing the suffocating pressure of Aura’s mana, the weight of doom in the air. Aura flicks her fingers, and her puppet soldiers advance, their every step echoing on the broken earth. Her voice, cold and resonant, carries across the field:
“Bring forth your strongest. I will weigh your souls.”
Even in the city’s heart, courage falters. The campaign’s decisive moment hangs in the balance, and Aura’s legend waits to claim another chapter.