Nobody spoke for several seconds after Nyra finished reading.
The storm seemed determined to fill the silence for them.
Rain crashed through the forest canopy in relentless waves while thunder rolled across the mountains like distant warfare, shaking branches and sending nervous birds scattering from their shelters. The ridge had become a landscape of mud, wet stone, and uncertainty, illuminated only by occasional flashes of lightning that painted every face in harsh white light before plunging them back into darkness.
Nyra stood motionless in the center of it all.
The journal remained open in her hands.
The final words stared back at her.
The heir must survive long enough to ascend.
A part of her wanted to be angry.
A part of her wanted to throw the journal into the mud and preten
