By the time dawn broke, smoke already curled above Iron Hollow's western cliffs.
Cormac slammed his fist into the table. “They're not scouting—they're broadcasting."
“Through scry-mirrors," Ravik confirmed grimly. “Priestess Selene wants the entire continent to see this."
Leo narrowed his eyes. “See what?"
Ravik turned the mirror.
The image flickered—static laced with moonlight glyphs—then snapped into focus.
Cormac. Bound. Bloodied. Strapped to a crumbling altar in a ruined cathedral.
Selene stood beside him, draped in ceremonial silver, voice echoing across every campfire from here to the capital.
“Loyal wolves," she purred, “behold the traitor who hides your doom. He has sheltered the Disaster-Star. He has walked with her, fed her, defended her."
Cormac spat blood. “You're afra
