The night before the battle felt like the edge of the world.
The fortress was quiet, but it was the kind of quiet that came before chaos—the kind that held its breath, trembling, as fate rolled its dice. Outside the walls, darkness churned. The godborn weren’t just approaching—they were circling, testing, surrounding like predators waiting for the right moment to strike.
Selina stood at the eastern battlements, her fingers curled tightly around the hilt of her sword. Her silver hair fluttered in the wind, the ends scorched from battle, but her eyes were steady. Focused.
She could feel them in the distance.
And she could feel him—Draven.
Or… something worse.
Behind her, the gates to the war tower creaked open.
Zane stepped through, a thick cloak thrown over his shoulders, his golden
