The ruins of the Eastern Keep still smoked from the fires of war.

Lyla stood at the highest point of the fallen fortress, her silver eyes scanning the battlefield below.

The bodies of the Elders and their warriors were scattered across the broken ground, their once-powerful order reduced to nothing but corpses and ash.

The Marked Ones moved like ghosts, collecting their own fallen, tending to the wounded, securing what was left of the stronghold.

But no one spoke.

No one ...