The first wave came at dawn.
Not with the howl of war horns or the crash of steel—but with silence. A tearing in the air, like the world itself exhaling something it had tried too long to hold back.
The shadows slipped through the rip like oil over water. Shapeless at first, then forming—limbs, claws, twisted mockeries of life. They were not creatures. They were memories that refused to die.
Aelira stood at the threshold, flame blooming in her palm. Astren flanked her, sword lit with ancient runes, crackling with stormlight.
Cain and Raze took their places behind them. No orders needed. No fear spoken aloud.
This wasn’t a battle.
It was a defense of what mattered.
Aelira struck first.
She moved like a dancer, like fire incarnate—graceful, merciless. Every flame she called was not d
