**Nymera’s POV**
---
“Why leave a crown?” Kaelith asked.
We stood at the Hall of Names, the Spiralborn long gone, the High Spiral’s twisted silver circlet still resting on my father’s tomb.
Dain hovered near the gate, speaking to Graeven in clipped commands, preparing for the next inevitable strike.
“They’ve never given us anything before,” Kaelith added. “Only fire. Threats. Now this?”
“It’s not a gift,” I said. “It’s a prophecy.”
Kaelith frowned. “Explain.”
“They’re not planning for seven days of war,” I said slowly. “They’re counting down to something else. Something *after.*”
He stiffened. “Day Eight.”
I nodded. “The Spiralborn don’t want to destroy Hollowfang.”
“They want me to *wear* it.”
---
By midday, the camp was tense.
Our scouts reported fewer Spiralborn movements—
