The morning of the summit dawned clear and cold.
Vaelor stood on the balcony of the palace, watching the delegates arrive from every corner of the realm. They came on horseback and on foot, in carriages and on ships. They came from the mountains and the coasts, from the cities and the villages, from the deep and the sky.
The realm was united. The peace was lasting. The hope was growing.
But he knew it was fragile.
The sword at his hip pulsed with faint light. The blade had been quiet since the battle with the Ancient One. But it was never truly silent. It was always watching. Always waiting.
Mira appeared beside him. Her mismatched eyes were troubled.
"The delegates are restless. There's tension in the air. Something's wrong."
"I feel it too. But I don't know what it is."
"Then we
