icodemus stands in front of a high, dark wall, looking at a map of The Great Divide projected by a cartography orb.
“There”, he points at a specific point on the map.
Shaka Zulu nods in agreement. “I agree, this embankment would prove a worthy bottleneck.”
“…unless,” the warrior king continues in a sardonic voice, “…unless there are any of their number who can fly.”
The Fourth Conscience of The Great Divide turns towards Shaka Zulu.
“Not all are cursed by gravity.”
A shuffling behind them diverts both of their attention towards the sliding door entrance. The acolyte from the Sangoma’s chamber drops to a single knee, and the opposite fist touching the ground.
Master…I have a message from the Sangoma…