The throne room of Hollow Fang still carried the aftershocks of what had happened the night before. The Flameborn Crown burned faintly with an inner fire on its pedestal, light pulsing like the beat of a heart, shadows stretching long and sharp across the obsidian walls. Aria stood at the center of it all, her palms trembling though she tried to still them.
The bond tugged insistently in her chest, a thousand threads pulling her toward the triplets—Dorian, Tobias, and Marcus—each with their own fire, their own storm. She could feel their emotions through the bond now more than ever. Dorian's smoldering anger, Tobias's cautious resolve, Marcus's restless hunger for battle. They swirled inside her, threatening to drown her, yet she found herself standing tall, back straight, as though their strength became hers.
But it wasn't enough. Not for what was coming.
