The Winter Citadel was completely unrecognizable from the bleak, blood-stained fortress Aaliyah had first been dragged into as a captive.
Tonight, it was a beacon of impossible light.
It was the Winter Solstice—the exact anniversary of the night Aaliyah’s Primal magic had first awakened, and the night Valerius had tethered his soul to hers. To honor the day, the Unified Council had declared a week-long festival, and the entire continent had answered the call.
The Great Hall was a breathtaking sea of diversity. Southern tacticians in their polished silver armor drank heavily with massive Northern warlords wrapped in furs. In the corners, Eastern Witches in flowing emerald robes performed dazzling, harmless parlor tricks for wide-eyed Lycan children, their laughter echoing off the high
