Chapter 8. The Ultimatum

The wind at the mountain’s edge carried the scent of judgment.

Selene stood just inside the heavy oak door, her back pressed flat against the cold stone, breath shallow and measured as though the wrong sound might betray her. She could not see what waited beyond the threshold—only hear it. The slow toll of ceremonial bells. Voices murmuring in a language so old it seemed to vibrate through the rock itself. The soft rasp of layered robes moving through leaves, a sound like whispers drawn across bone.

The Council had come.

Alaric had gone out to meet them alone.

Against every instinct screaming for caution, Selene eased the door open a fraction.

Three figures stood in the clearing beyond. Their robes were black and silver, heavy wit