The Flameborn Court no longer slept.
By the second dawn after Riven's departure, every torch along the inner keep remained lit. Armor was polished. Scouts were dispatched. Scrolls from allied packs arrived in droves—each bearing either a desperate plea for peace or a veiled warning to stand down.
Elara stood at the high balcony above the strategy chamber, eyes fixed on the horizon. The storm that had loomed at the edge of the realm hadn't broken yet, but she could feel it pressing, heavy in the air. Like the world was holding its breath.
Behind her, Kael paced.
"We're stretched thin," he muttered. "If this Hollow Fang rises, we can't protect every outpost, every border. I need to recall the eastern patrols."
"You'll leave the mountain pass exposed," Elara replied quietly, arms crossed.
"Better to guard our heart than scatter our limbs."
"Or better to fight like we're one body, not a dozen broken pieces."
Kael stopped. "Say what you mean, Elara."
