The war room was quiet now.
The echoes of voices and shifting maps had faded, leaving only the faint hum of protective magic woven through the stone walls.
The air was still heavy with the scent of old parchment, burning candles, and the sharper, colder taste of battle plans that hadn't yet seen blood—but would, soon.
Malvoria remained standing at the head of the table, her hands planted firmly on the cold onyx surface, her eyes scanning the maps even though she already knew them by heart.
Every route.
Every weak point.
Every risk.
She had replayed it all over and over in her mind until it was etched into her bones:Veylira, distracting Lucindra.Lara and Raveth, slipping inside like shadows.Herself and Elysia, striking the heart.
It was a perfect plan.
At least, as perfect as any plan could be against a woman like Lucindra.
Still... even perfect plans cracked under pressure. Even the sharpest swords could break.
