That evening, they crept toward the palace gates. Two Basilisk guards waited, their upper bodies humanoid but scaled, tails coiled around gilded spears. Their eyes were molten coins; a concentric rims of living gold and smoldering ink.

“State your purpose,” one hissed.

Tilly trembled. “W-we’re deliverin’ the items for the high chamber.”

Glacy elbowed her. “Keep your snout shut,” she muttered, stepping forward. “It’s for Commander Ul’ren. You know me. I don’t ...