Sasha’s POV
The Council Chamber smelled of old blood and older judgments.
Stone walls curved upward into a towering dome etched with the crests of kingdoms long turned to dust—some burned by fire, some buried by silence. The air was cold, sharp with incense and power. Every breath echoed. Every footstep struck like prophecy.
And every eye watched me.
I wore no crown. No silk. No gilded sigils.
Only a long black cloak that whispered across the polished stone like smoke, and the mark of the Flameborne burning steady between my shoulder blades—quiet, glowing, alive.
The chamber was a theater of power.
Lords in velvet and furs lounged like lions in a den of memory. High Priestesses in flame-colored robes lined the western arc, each bearing a pendant etched in ash-rune. Warriors from the
