Chapter 17. The Crown Forged in Silence

They heard the horn again at dusk.

It rolled down from the mountains in a long, measured note—low and ceremonial, weighted with intent. It was not the cry of a wild hunt or a warning call sounded in panic. It was the sound of arrival. Of return. Of something ancient announcing itself without apology.

Seraya stood at the gates of Hollowridge, the wind tugging at the edges of her cloak as though testing her resolve. The stars had not yet risen, but the air shimmered with anticipation, tight and electric. Around her, the camp had gone unnaturally still. Wolves paused mid-step, mid-word, mid-breath.

They were waiting.

The horns did not belong to her pack.

They came from the mountains.

Rael