The Herald of Ash
The figure at the base of the blackened tree slowly lifted their head.
Aelir and Lira instinctively drew their weapons, but the cloaked one made no move to attack. Instead, their voice — brittle as dry leaves — carried across the clearing.
"You are bound to the old oaths," the Herald rasped. "And the Crown remembers."
The broken crown of bone shimmered faintly at their feet, pulsing with a sickly light.
Lira took a step forward, sword raised. "We owe nothing to the Silent Crown," she said coldly. "Whatever you are, you’re wasting your breath."
The Herald's hood shifted, and from within, Aelir caught a glimpse of hollow eyes — black, endless voids.
"You misunderstand," the Herald crooned. "It is not a debt. It is a summons."
Before Aelir could speak, the ground aro
