Tension hung in the pale predawn light like a drawn blade, each faction perched on the edge of conflict, with the heir caught between them. The rogue camp straddled the forest clearing’s edge, their embers and smoldering torches painting ominous shadows across the tree line. Opposite them, Stormborn warriors waited in uneasy ranks, scanning the gloom for any sign of treachery.
Aria Stormborn-Blackthorne stood at a midpoint, arms folded, cloak stirring in the light breeze. Even after the uneasy truce at the Nightfall Summit, a hundred quiet resentments lingered on both sides. Now, some of the rogues insisted on seeing more “proof” that Aria wasn’t just a lapdog of the old ways.
One of the rogues, a short, wiry male called Darius, with slashing scars across his forearms, stepped forward. H
