Draven's pov
They called it a summit, but it felt more like a funeral.
Twelve of us sat in a circle of power, cloaked in tension and ancient blood debts. The chamber was carved into the cliffs of Arkenhold,high, cold, and far from digital ears. The walls were lined with old war banners, their colors faded by time but never forgotten. This place had seen the birth and fall of kingdoms.
And today, it would decide the future of ours.
Eira sat to my right, still as stone. Kira lingered near the perimeter, her eyes locked on Marcus across the room like a hawk tracking a snake. He looked thinner,haunted even,but that didn't mean I trusted him. A cornered animal always bit the hardest.
The room buzzed with low voices until Chancellor Veyr lifted his hand. "The floor is open. Speak now, or forever be ruled by silence."
Marcus stood. I didn't miss the tremor in his hands as he adjusted the collar of his silver-lined coat.
