The council circle was packed, the air thick with winter smoke and anticipation. Torches licked the stone walls, casting dancing shadows that climbed with every flicker of the flames. Lucian stood at the head, his shoulders squared, the weight of leadership radiating from him, without his crown. Beside him, Beta Casius loomed, arms crossed, his gaze unwavering and intense.
At the center of the chamber stood Dorian. His clothes were plain, stitched at the hem from wear, and his boots still carried the marsh’s dampness. His shoulders were tight with the instinct to flee, but his chin did not dip. Amalia hovered behind him, one hand light on his back, steady. Her touch was not force but a reminder: You are not alone.
The murmuring died as Lucian’s voice cut through the chamber.
“Dorian. Gr
