Lucien
The fortress lay in uneasy silence that night. The torches burned low, and long shadows stretched across the cold stone floors. Lucien stood alone in his study, staring at the table covered in patrol notes, rune sketches, and sealed letters. The fire crackled in the hearth, but it didn’t touch the chill in his chest.
He’d sent Rhea to rest under Nyla’s watch, but her face still lingered in his mind—the way her eyes had searched his when she whispered “What if they are right?” He had no answer then, and none now.
A knock came at the door
“Enter,” Lucien said without looking up.
Dorian stepped inside. His Gamma’s stride was as controlled as ever, his face impossible to read.
“Report,” Lucien ordered.
“The northern scouts returned an hour ago,” Dorian began. “No further movement
