CHAPTER 8: ASHES OF THE SUN - IAN
Heat is more than just a temperature in the lands of the Royal Pack of the Sun-Bearers. It is a heartbeat. It is a breath. It is the weight of liquid gold flowing through our veins, a legacy of the bloodline of Ra that, for millennia, has made us the guardians of the dawn.
But today, as I stand upon the southern rampart of the rising Citadel of Dawn, the heat tastes bitter. It smells of hewn stone, the sweat of laborers, and burnt cedar. Thirteen years. Thirteen years since we began gathering the debris of our empire, stone by stone, bone by bone.
I ran a hand over my face, feeling the scar that slashed across my brow down to my temple, an indelible souvenir of the night the world tilted on its axis. Behind me, the sound of hammers striking white marble
