The Hollow no longer screamed—it murmured. The fires had died, but their ghosts lingered in the air, a bitter tang of smoke and scorched iron that clung to every breath. The once-golden city of kings was now gray, its streets slick with ash and rain.
Kael walked alone through the heart of it, the hem of his dark cloak dragging through puddles tinted with soot. The world had grown quieter since the battle—too quiet. Even the wind dared not howl.
Behind him trailed a dozen survivors, the last of the soldiers who had sworn loyalty after the m******e. Lira led them, her sword sheathed but her eyes sharp, watching the ruins for movement. The boy—the one who had once carried messages between the camps—kept close to her side. His face was pale, and his hands trembled, but he refused to fall beh
