The dawn light was pale and jaundiced when Leon, Nora, and Elsa rode through the shattered northern gate. Snow still drifted in eddies, stained blood-red around broken carriage wheels. Nora's fingers curled around her father's diary—its leather cover split but pages intact. Elsa clutched the holo-crystals, their data shimmering in the weak sun. Leon's cloak whipped behind him as he guided the horses, every muscle coiled for the Council's chamber beyond the refugee camps.
“Are you certain they'll grant us audience?" Elsa asked, voice hollow.
Leon glanced at her, jaw set. “They know Vorn's treachery now; they cannot ignore the plea of the crown prince." He tapped the reins. “If they delay, the Council of Elders meets by midday. We must arrive before then."
Nora nodded, eyes on the broken
