Emily Rosewood’s Point of View.
The Shattered Range – the night the Chainspire woke
The wind screamed through the jagged bones of the valley.
Fog spilled between the rocks like blood through cracked stone, cold and heavy with the scent of rust and old ash. I moved through it in silence, sword drawn, cloak wrapped tight around me. Behind me, the warband crept forward, a ribbon of shadows moving across cursed ground. Above us, the Chainspire loomed like the broken finger of a dead god.
We had not expected the silence. That was the worst part.
No howl. No war cry. Just… waiting.
Lyra moved beside me, her eyes distant, unfocused.
“Something’s wrong,” she said.
I nodded. “They’re not moving.”
“No,” Lyra whispered. “They’re listening.”
I froze.
To the right, among the fractured stones
