The stronghold had not seen Keep colors in decades.
Yet by midmorning, the heavy gates at the main cavern mouth swung open to admit six riders draped in the silver-and-crimson banners of Riven’s court. Their armor caught the torchlight, gleaming like frost, and their eyes — pale and unblinking — swept the gathered Nightbloods with the same quiet disdain as one might give a pack of strays.
Elinora stood on the stone dais beside Elder Seryth, Kaelen at her right shoulder. Riven was below, a deliberate step away from the formal greeting line, though his presence was unmistakable.
She could feel the bond pulse once, steady but muted, as though reminding her he was still there.
The lead rider dismounted and bowed with crisp precision. “I bring word from the Keep’s High Council.” His voice c
