The morning after the fall of the black fortress dawned quiet and strange. The world felt suspended in breathless stillness, as though nature itself was uncertain whether to weep or rejoice.
Elizabeth stood alone at the edge of the battlefield, where the warped trees had finally stopped whispering, and the air no longer carried the stench of decay. She wore no crown, no armor only a cloak of ash-dusted wool, and the scent of smoke clinging to her skin.
Selene’s body had been taken back to the Flame Spire the night before, wrapped in twilight-colored silk. Despite everything, Elizabeth had refused to leave her sister’s remains behind. She would not let the story end with betrayal. Not without remembrance.
Behind her, the survivors moved like ghosts. Wolves of every rank and banner gather
