The Hollow’s night had grown restless. What little peace the city had earned after the Regent’s fall was fading, replaced by an unease that hummed through every street like the distant roll of thunder. The air was heavy with the smell of wet stone, rain-soaked earth, and the faint metallic tang of iron—a scent Kael had learned to recognize as a warning of blood soon to be spilled.
In the keep’s war room, a single candle burned low, dripping wax down its copper stand. Its flame swayed each time the wind crept in through the cracked shutters. The flickering light threw tall, unsteady shadows across the wooden table strewn with maps, ink-stained letters, and crude sketches of nearby roads and villages.
Kael stood at the head of the table, silent and still, his hands braced on the edge. His
