POV: Alpha Jackson Reynolds
The air in the Great Hall was thick with the scent of ozone and ancient dust, a sensory reminder that we were pulling a dormant titan back into the light. For three days, the Shadowmere tech teams and the Ironwood masons worked in rotating shifts, directed by Caleb and Mark. The obsidian-and-moonstone throne was no longer a shattered stump; it had been meticulously reconstructed, the jagged edges fused back together with liquid silver and reinforced with modern structural resins.
But the throne was merely the anchor. The heart was what lay beneath.
"Cables are secure, Alpha," Mark called out from the newly excavated subfloor. He was covered in grease, his tactical gear discarded in favor of a technician’s belt. "The conduits are mapped directly to the residen
