The ground trembled beneath Rowan’s feet.
But it wasn’t fear.
Not anymore.
It was power.
It hummed through his bones, curled behind his ribs, and whispered at the edge of his mind like a song too ancient to remember. The air around him shimmered with golden threads as the spirits of the Sovereigns emerged from the Hollowmere chamber—each a glowing silhouette of the past, draped in battle-worn armor and etched with the marks of the Echo.
Rowan stepped forward, barefoot and bare-chested, the new Sovereign crest gleaming across his chest. The wind caught his hair and cloak, and the light in his eyes was no longer just his own.
It was all of theirs.
All that remained of the First Blood.
The Enemy Arrives
Outside the cave, Garrick’s army approached like a storm—marching in tight, bruta
