The fires had long since died, but the scent of blood still clung to the air.

Lyla stood at the highest point of the ruined Eastern Keep, staring out over the land she had claimed.

Victory had been hers.

The Elders were gone.

The old world had crumbled at her feet.

But this this silence, this weight pressing down on her chest this did not feel like triumph.

The Marked Ones moved below, carrying out their duties in eerie quiet, reinforcing the stronghold, tending to the wounded, ...