Chapter 14. The Hall of Thorns

The wind shifted as they neared the gates.

Seraya stood on the stone ridge overlooking the Council’s sacred grounds, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her mother’s blade. Alaric stood beside her, broad shoulders tense, jaw set. The world below looked deceptively still—no banners, no guards, no howls.

But they were being watched.

Always.

The Council Hall—known to the old blood as the Hall of Thorns—sat cradled between black pine trees, built into the stone face of the mountain. It was ancient. Timeless. The stone walls bled roots, tangled with ivy that never died. A fortress shaped by time and judgment. The place where bloodlines were sealed… or severed.

It reeked of old power. The kind that preferred silence over mercy.

Seraya drew her cloak tighter as they descended.