The ash did not stay still. Even without a wind, the fine white powder of the incinerated forest drifted into patterns that defied the laws of nature—spirals that mirrored the vortex of the Hollow King’s face.
Elara stood on the balcony of the Embassy, her fingers tracing the cold obsidian railing. Below, the reconstruction had begun. Mermen in specialized environmental suits—designed by the few engineers who hadn't turned husk—worked alongside wolves to clear the charred timber. They were planting Moon-Ferns, glowing aquatic-hybrid plants that thrived on the lingering Aurora energy.
"The Iron Claw is at the perimeter," Kaelen’s voice came from the doorway. He sounded tired, his voice gravelly from a night of coordinating the shifts. "Alpha Greyson didn't come alone. He brought the Silve
