The next morning came cold and gray.
Clouds hung low over Elandra like a blanket of ash, casting a somber hue over the city's stone towers and copper domes. A thin fog curled along the battlements, and the banners of the Adventurer's Guild snapped softly in the breeze.
Inigo stood by the MRAP in the courtyard of the inner citadel, arms crossed, staring at a newly delivered crate beside the vehicle. It had arrived from the Arcane Registry just minutes ago—delivered by two mages wearing deep green robes marked with the sigil of the Royal Seers. One of them had carried a sealed scroll; the other, the crate itself.
Inside the crate was a single item: a black compass-like disc etched with fine golden lines. It pulsed faintly with mana, spinning lazily even though no magnetic field should have affected it.
