The chamber reeked of old magic and rot.
Far beneath the earth, deep in a place no sunlight could touch, the Shadow Conclave gathered around a basin of black stone. Candlelight flickered against the jagged walls, illuminating the twisted faces of those who had long since abandoned the light.
Thirteen stone chairs circled the basin, though only six were currently filled. The others would come—summoned when the time was right. For now, it was enough. Enough to scheme. Enough to hunger.
At the head of the circle sat Grandmother Vexa, the oldest among them. Her skin was cracked like stone, eyes white and rimmed with ink-black veins. Her breath came slow, drawn through a bone mask she wore to shield her decaying lungs. She was the Seer, the one who had whispered River’s name before he was ev
