The capital burned.
They saw it before they even reached the outer gates—pillars of black smoke rising against a blood-orange sky. The golden towers of Solhaven, once gleaming with enchanted flame, were cracked and crumbling, their magical defenses flickering like dying stars.
Ivy stood in the saddle, her heart hammering.
“No…” she breathed.
Kael’s grip on the reins tightened. “We’re too late.”
Ember, riding just behind them, touched the glowing mark on her wrist—the sigil she received from Velna deep within the cradle tomb. It pulsed violently, reacting to the chaos ahead.
“They've breached the flame wards,” she said. “Something—or someone—opened them from the inside.”
Lord Calean, ever composed, drew his twin blades. “Then we’re not just dealing with corrupted minds. We’re dealing
