The storm didn’t fall with the fury I feared.
It crept.
Clouds unfurled like ancient beasts across the sky, their underbellies heavy and black, veiling the stars one by one until only a smothered darkness remained. The wind hissed between the stone teeth of Solgard’s towers, dragging with it the scent of damp earth and something older—something that didn’t belong.
Yet no alarms were sounded. No enemies stormed the gates. No fire lit the horizon.
Only rain fell—slow, persistent, a thousand tiny murmurs against the rooftops—as if the world itself was whispering secrets too old for mortal ears.
I stood at the high arched window of the bedchamber, one hand pressed to the cold glass. My reflection stared back at me: a ghost with tangled hair, haunted eyes, and the faint shimmer of magic we
