The fortress had been breathing again for less than a week when the first tremor arrived.

Not the kind that split walls or shattered glass, but the quieter kind — the whisper that slid through the cracks, unnoticed until it was too late.

At first, it was only murmurs among the border scouts.

A sighting in the northern pass.

A strange banner glimpsed through fog — silver thread against black cloth.

By the time the message reached the council chamber, the whispers had grown teeth.

“They ...