Chapter 8. The Ultimatum

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

Selene stood just behind the heavy oak door, her back pressed flat against the stone, her breathing shallow. She couldn’t see what waited outside—only hear it. The sound of ceremonial bells, of voices murmuring in a language older than memory, and the sharp rustle of robes moving through leaves like whispers through bone.

The Council had arrived.

Alaric had gone out to meet them alone.

Against her better judgment, Selene cracked the door open.

Three figures stood in the clearing. Robes of black and silver. Faces concealed beneath hooded veils laced with thread that shimmered like mercury. None of them carried weapons—but they didn’t need to. Power rolled off their forms in waves. Not magic, but authority. Old, sacred, and merciless.

Alaric stoo