The return to the North Star’s Great Hall was not the triumphant procession Elara had envisioned. Instead of the rhythmic chanting of her subjects, she was met with a heavy, pressurized silence that felt more like a bared throat than a bow.
The hall was still flooded, but the water had turned a murky, stagnant green. Floating at the edges of the pillars were the iridescent scales of fallen Mermen—not from the battle on the cliff, but from something internal.
As Elara glided through the center of the hall, Kaelen followed three paces behind. He was a shadow of his former self, his clothes caked in the grey mud of the marshes, his gaze wary. Every wolf in the hall—those who had knelt to Elara—looked at him with a mix of hope and terror.
"My Queen," Commander Thorne stepped forward. His po
