The war council never happened.
I was crossing the main hall when the first tremor hit. Not from the ground — from the sky. A pressure wave that rattled every window in the palace and sent the runic lamps flickering. Brenil stumbled. Enira drew her blade on instinct.
I felt it before anyone else did. The Dimensional Sense screamed — a wall of energy, alive, ancient, furious, descending from above. Not one signature. Thousands. Ten thousand heartbeats falling toward Nova Drakhal like rain made of war.
And above them all, one presence so vast it bent the dimensional fabric around it like a stone dropped in still water.
I'd felt that presence once before. In the council of the Five Pillars, when she'd looked at me and said I shouldn't exist.
Saeltharys. The Silent Mother.
I ran to the balcony. Kaelon was already there, staring up. Orzoth's grimoire was open, pages spinning. Kirael stood frozen, hand on his sword, eyes wide.
