Tiberius’ pov.

The wind reeked of smoke before I even saw the city. Ravenhold—our fortress beneath the veil of magic—was supposed to be untouchable. Hidden. Sacred. But as I rode up the final crest, the horizon proved otherwise. Smoke coiled into the sky like black serpents. Flames devoured rooftops. Cries pierced the silence like knives.

I froze in the saddle. My breath caught in my throat. Anger and disbelief churned in my gut.

I spurred the horse forward, barely ...