The light was dying when the banners were raised.Blood-red threads caught the dusk, fluttering against the ruins of the old council keep—the Shattered Vale—its name spoken in whispers as though it might still echo with the screams that had once filled it.

Elaria rode at the front, cloak drawn against the bitter wind, eyes sharp and unflinching as they crossed the broken courtyard. The peace envoys had already gathered—tall wolves cloaked in neutral gray, faces unreadable, their scent ...