The war room was built in the shape of a circle—no throne, no corners, no hierarchy. The walls were alive with runes that shimmered in sync with the breath of the land. The great obsidian table pulsed with a map made not of ink and parchment but memory and power—crafted by the Hollowed sages who bent time’s echo to their will.
Rose stood at the center, her blue eyes fierce, calm, but unrelenting. Her mates flanked her—Marcus, the Dragon Lord, silent and towering; Alex, her phoenix, glowing like a live ember; and Leo, silver-haired and wild-eyed, his presence the steady heartbeat behind her resolve.
The chamber was filled—every creature, beast, and ancient soul who had pledged to Rose when the world began to shift. Weeks ago, they had come, drawn by something older than war, older than bl
