KAEL'S POV
Dawn bleeds pale across the horizon as we approach the gates.
The stronghold looms ahead, towers carved of white stone that catch the weak sun and blaze like sharpened ivory. Banners ripple from the battlements—crimson and gold, the sigil of the Council—and for the first time since clawing out of the abyss, I feel something colder than fire inside me.
Not fear. Disgust.
These walls are not built to protect. They're built to judge.
The gates creak open with deliberate weight, groaning on ancient hinges, and the soldiers tighten their formation around me. A cage of flesh and steel.
Ayla doesn't let go. Her hand still grips mine, steady, warm, defiant.
Cassia rides at the front, her jaw hard as iron. She doesn't look back, but her voice carries. "Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't move unless commanded. You'll get your chance to prove yourself—or hang yourself."
The soldiers chuckle nervously. I don't.
