The fortress was burning.

Not with fire—but with light.

It seeped into the mountain's very bones like molten gold, pouring through every crevice in the old stone walls. Under it, even the wolves in the lower dens whined, and the air pulsed with a rhythmic, otherworldly hum.

Elaria stumbled backward, her vision dazzled. Her hand—still dripping blood from where she’d sealed their bond—tingled, then went numb.

Draven was glowing.

Not just his eyes. His skin. His chest. His veins. ...