The valley was restless.
Elinora felt it before she saw anything — a low vibration in the ground, different from the hum that tied the ruins to her. This was heavier, like the tread of many boots moving in unison.
Riven caught it too. He was already on the wall by the time she stepped onto the dais, bow in hand, eyes scanning the far ridge. Kaelen emerged from the silver grass like a shade, his shadows still clinging to the blades.
Her wolf’s voice was steady. Not Bonehounds. Too organized. Too open.
The first figure appeared just as the sun broke over the ridge. He was tall, armored in dark steel worked with silver filigree, a wolf’s head worked into the breastplate. Behind him came a column of riders — two dozen at least — each bearing a long spear tipped in moonlight-pale metal.
Ri
