Ashbourne wasn’t a city yet.
It was a dream carved into ruin, a blueprint drawn in blood, magic, and the thin hope of those who had nothing left to lose.
We began the morning with ash on our boots and the sting of exhaustion in our bones. But we also had purpose. Real, unshakable purpose.
The throne room was now a war council. The cracked floor bore new symbols—sigils of protection, runes of binding and scrying, all etched by Mira’s trembling hands. Alistair had gathered what remained of the city guard. Selene oversaw training, barking orders like a war-priestess. Kael ran the perimeter with his wolves, sniffing out signs of Hollow Court scouts.
And I?
I hunted fire.
Deep beneath the palace, past collapsed halls and ancient tombs no one remembered, I followed the ley lines—the invisi
