The wind howled through the Royal Keep, carrying the scent of snow and something darker—something ancient. Kaelin stood on the balcony of the High Tower, her cloak whipping behind her, gaze fixed on the north.
The words of the prophecy echoed in her mind:
When the throne bears flame and shadow, the end shall wake and the old gods rise.
She had thought herself strong—prepared. But now, with rebellion still stirring in the corners of her kingdom and whispers of a forgotten army gathering, the flame inside her flared with unease.
She was not alone.
Behind her, Theron approached, his steps heavy with resolve.
“We’ve secured the inner walls,” he reported. “Mira is interrogating the captured assassins. And Garran... fled the city last night.”
Kaelin’s fists clenched. “He’ll regroup. We mu
