Chapter 35. The War Crowned in Smoke

The horns had not stopped.

Three distinct calls—deep, rhythmic, unrelenting—rolled through the mountain passes and poured into the Hollowridge throne hall like thunder too proud to fade. Wolves filled the corridors in purposeful motion. Armor clattered as it was strapped into place. Blades slid free of leather with a hiss that carried urgency rather than ceremony. Banners were raised, not in triumph, but in warning.

Seraya stood beneath the great archway overlooking the eastern courtyard, her gaze fixed on the movement below.

The sky beyond the walls had turned orange-gray, ash thickening the air until dawn itself looked bruised.

She wore no crown. The mark alone rested across her shoulders like a living mantle, etched into her skin with deliberate weight. The fire that had once been hers alone now whispered with every step she too