The echoes of heavy boots against stone grew rhythmic and threatening. The Ash-Walkers arrived at the threshold of the sanctum with weapons drawn. Their blades pulsed with a harsh, violet light that flickered in rejection of the golden aura now clinging to Julian and Elara. They were no longer mere soldiers but executioners sent by the surviving elders of the High Houses to prune what they perceived as a systemic error.
Julian turned to face them. He felt the vast expanse of the Dragon Dimension vibrating beneath his skin. Every mountain peak and subterranean river acted as an extension of his own nervous system. He could sense the fear in the soldiers, a sharp metallic tang that drifted through the air. They were terrified because the crown was gone. They were terrified because the order
