The dawn broke not with light, but with mist. A heavy fog draped itself over the mountains like a shroud, muffling sound and stealing color from the world. Aria stood at the ridge's edge, her cloak drawn tightly around her as she stared down into the gorge where the Hollow Fang waited. Somewhere in the depths of that gray blanket, their enemies gathered in silence, preparing for war.
Her pulse matched the thrum of the Flameborn crown at her hip. She had resisted putting it on all night, leaving it wrapped in crimson cloth as though mere fabric could muffle its whispers. But even bound, its power pressed against her mind, eager, insistent.
