Banners of black and gold rippled above the cliffs of Aerondale’s eastern command ridge, snapping like restless hawks in the midnight gale. Lanterns hissed along the perimeter, their flames forced to lean westward by the mountain wind. Below the ridge, rank upon rank of soldiers stood in frozen formation: pike lines in front, shield‑wall behind, siege engineers farther back, tending to strange machines that glowed with ember‑runes. Armor had been freshly burnished; helms gleamed like winter moons. Yet every face beneath the steel carried the same grim tension—the knowledge that by dawn they would march into fire or glory.The air reeked of forge‑smoke and pitch oil, heavy enough to sting the eyes. Sparks drifted each time a smith hammered a rivet into place or a rune‑wright struck arcane flint against cold iron.King Theron Ashford stood at the granite bluff that overlooked it all. Even at rest, he cut a figure of coiled iron—hands folded behind his back, shoulders set, black cloak wh

Queen Elara stood at the mouth of the evacuation caverns, her figure tall and unmoving, illuminated by wavering torchlight and the approaching glow of doom. The heat on the wind had changed—it no longer warned of fire, it promised it. It promised death.All around her, chaos bled into motion.Children clung to their mothers, wide-eyed and whimpering, as if their small bodies understood that this wasn’t just a battle—it was annihilation marching on their doorstep. Old men shuffled on trembling legs toward the carved tunnel entrances beneath the southern cliffs, many of them refusing help, as if dignity were the only thing left they could carry.Soldiers shouted, forming lines, directing traffic, protecting the perimeter, but even they couldn’t quell the panic that surged through Rivermoore’s veins like poison.A thunderclap echoed in the distance.Above them, the blightfire glowed like a sun being torn open.“We must move!” Seraphina’s voice cut through the din as she emerged from the

The silence after Calen’s words hung like a blade over the war council. It was the kind of silence that carved through air, thick with power and pain—an edge no sword could match. Dust drifted through the folds of the massive tent, stirred by a sudden breeze, carrying the scent of scorched earth and distant lightning. Beyond the canvas walls, the echoes of Calen’s earlier alchemical storm still rippled faintly across the valley. Nature remembered.King Theron Ashford rose slowly from his blackstone throne, the creak of his armor groaning like a chained beast. Torchlight caught the golden embossing on his breastplate, glinting like fire—but nothing in his expression reflected warmth. Only fury. Only betrayal.“You dare,” he said, each syllable ground out through clenched teeth, “to stand here in chains, after bedding my queen—after planting your bastard seed in her womb—and then speak to me of peace?”Calen, hands shackled in storm-dampening irons, met the King’s gaze without flinching

The temple corridor echoed faintly as Calen’s footsteps faded into the silence beyond. His presence—like the storm that followed him—left behind a kind of weight. One no words could quite capture.Back in the sanctum chamber, Queen Elara lay still, the newborn child sleeping in her arms, wrapped in soft cloth woven from silver-threaded river flax. Her hair clung damp to her temples, but her gaze was steady.Seraphina stood near, arms crossed, calculating not just possibilities, but threats. “We’ll need to move soon,” she murmured. “Aerondale won’t give us another day. Maybe not even another hour.”Elara’s voice was soft but unwavering. “Then let them come. Avenya will still be seen.”From the corner, Carmen groaned and flopped onto a low stone bench. “So what’s the plan here? Walk into the plaza, lift the baby like she’s a prophecy, and pray Aerondale doesn’t have itchy fingers on their siege triggers?”“That’s not entirely off Vynorian tradition,” Seraphina muttered without looking u

The sky burned red over Rivermoore.Aerondale's catapults screamed from the ridges, hurling flame and smoke across the southern walls. Siege engines groaned with the rhythm of war. Steel clashed against enchanted stone, and every breath in the city tasted of fire, iron, and fear.Calen Storm fought near the broken eastern gate, his cloak torn, his stormlight flaring from both hands. Every motion summoned lightning to his fists, but his focus frayed.Not because of the battle.Because of what he saw.Tharstan. In the vision. No longer chained beneath the obsidian lake, but standing—awake—his eyes pits of infinite shadow. The chains broken. The seals undone.It can’t be real. It can’t be now.And yet it felt close. Too close. A pressure in the air, as though the world itself held its breath.He barely turned in time to deflect a blow from Evan Drake’s vanguard captain. Sparks flew as their blades met, but Calen’s reaction came half a second too slow.Pain flared along his ribs. He stumb