The valley lay broken, the Black Lattice shattered into ruin. Smoke curled up from its fractured stones, carrying the stink of burned iron and salt. The Council’s knives had withdrawn, leaving only silence and scars.
The survivors huddled in a hollow by the ridge, too drained to celebrate. Dominic kept watch with his sword laid across his knees, Kael leaned against a stone, blood drying at the corner of his mouth, and Mireya sat with her staff across her lap, eyes closed but far from sleep.
Lena lay back against a boulder, staring at the sky. The crowns hovered faint and tired above her. Her mark pulsed, not with pain now, but with something worse: expectation.
Mireya’s voice cut the stillness. “Don’t sleep too deep,” she warned. “The Trial isn’t finished.”
“What do you mean?” Lark ask
