Three years after the fall of Crescent Moon, the high balcony of the Sovereign Palace overlooked a valley transformed.
Where jagged mountain tracks once froze beneath winter storms, wide granite highways now carved through the passes, linking the bustling trade hubs of the Blackwood Realm to the thriving agricultural communes of the south. Below in the central plaza, merchant caravans laden with grain, silk, and silver moved smoothly beneath the twin-wolf banners, guarded by disciplined patrols who kept the peace with quiet efficiency.
The realm was no longer just survived; it flourished.
Inside the private sunroom of the royal suites, the warm afternoon breeze drifted through open French doors, carrying the scent of pine needles and blooming mountain lavender.
I sat at a broad ivory w
