The ruins of Hollow Mountain looked almost poetic in the early morning light.

Stone pillars cracked but still standing. Ash curled upward like slow-motion snowflakes. The grand hall, where warriors had once sparred, strategized, and screamed, was now quiet. Not dead, but resting. Waiting.

Celeste stood in the center of it all, dust in her curls, one sleeve torn, boots still spattered with blood.

“This is where we rebuild,” she said softly, more to herself than anyone else.

Behind her, ...