The hall was a hive of tension, the air thick with the scent of blood and antiseptic as healers darted between the wounded. My arm burned under the makeshift bandage, my side a constant throb, but I barely noticed. My eyes were glued to the pendant on the table, its spiraling symbols seeming to writhe in the firelight, whispering secrets we couldn’t yet decode. Lucian sat beside me, his shoulder pressed against mine, his silence heavier than the chaos around us. The bond pulsed—urgent, restless—like it knew something we didn’t.
Killian paced nearby, his staff tapping the floor, his face a mask of frustration. “We’re sitting ducks,” he muttered, glancing at the pendant. “That thing’s a beacon, and we’re just… what? Waiting for the next monster to knock?”
Lucian’s jaw tightened, but before
