Dawn had barely broken when Valkoron was stirred from its sleep.
At the first toll of the sixth bell, the city awoke not to merchants' cries or temple chants, but to urgency. Palace messengers had ridden through the noble quarters before sunrise, pounding on gates, shouting orders that brooked no delay.
An emergency High Council meeting. Attendance mandatory. Immediately.
By the time the pale morning light crept over the spires of the capital, ministers were already in motion.
Carriages thundered through narrow streets at reckless speeds, splashing through last night's rain. Some ministers emerged from their estates half-dressed, cloaks thrown hastily over night tunics, hair still damp from rushed washing. Others mounted horses with grim efficiency, muttering prayers under their breath as they spurred the animals forward.
When the Storm King summoned the council at such an hour, one did not arrive late.
No one forgot the last man who had dared to test that boundary.
