The decree still echoed in her skull, hammering with every heartbeat.
The Rite of Purity is decreed.
Elaria had heard countless judgments in that chamber—laws twisted, punishments weighed, edicts pronounced in voices that dripped with authority. But this… this had been different. This had not been politics, nor governance, nor law. This had been a death sentence dressed as ritual.
The corridors of Kaelith Keep swallowed her and Draven whole as they left the council chamber behind. The long stone halls, lined with ancient banners and iron sconces, seemed to hum with silence. No servants whispered in corners, no guards muttered between shifts. Eyes followed them—wolves, attendants, allies, spies—but no one dared speak. Everyone knew tomorrow would decide everything.
Draven walked at her
