Nymera’s POV
The morning after the siege smelled like death and magic.
Ash drifted across Hollowfang like snowfall, covering bodies and broken blades. The Hall of Stars stood, barely, its towers blackened, its gates a melted ruin. We had survived, but survival wasn’t victory. Not yet.
Kaelith stood beside me on the ramparts, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. His eyes scanned the distant treeline where the Spiralborn had vanished.
“They’ll return,” he said.
I didn’t answer.
Because I knew he was right.
And this time, I wasn’t sure we’d survive again.
In the courtyard, we held a funeral for the fallen.
Seventy-seven names. Seventy-seven wolves and witches and seers who’d died defending Hollowfang. Lira’s voice cracked halfway through the recitation. Graeven took ove
