We met them under wardlight.
The eastern gate rose from the cliff like a rib of the world, black stone fused with old magic. Glyphs pulsed along its arch, silver-blue and steady, the rhythm of a sleeping heart. Beyond it, the veil thinned to a wind-lashed edge of sky, clouds dragging their bellies along the horizon.
Liam stood with his hands visible, fingers spread in a gesture of peace. Beside him, the wolf sat enormous and still, as if carved from night. He bore the scars of portal-burn along his shoulder—thin white ribbons in his dark fur—and the look in his eyes that only sentries wore: the thousand-yard stare of those who’d watched doors that weren’t meant to open.
“Keeper,” Liam said, bowing to me first. Only then did he incline his head to Lou. “Dragon King.”
Nesbit went to his
