Far from Greyhold, inside a stone chamber where torches burned low and silence was heavy, the air was thick with anger.
Figures sat in a half-circle, their cloaks draped across the cold floor.
"He promised us," one of them spat, slamming his hand on the armrest. "The elder said he had control of the town. Claimed the hybrid's rage would choke Greyhold in smoke and ash. And what happened? He threw away our years of preparation and died like a fool."
"He always was too eager," another replied, his voice sharp. "We told him Greyhold was not to be rushed. That city has merchants, influence, roots we nurtured for years. Yet he made a spectacle and failed. His blood and his beast wasted."
The chamber stirred with murmurs.
"And now this boy, this Arden," someone said bitterly. "A pest. No, more than a pest. He has a nose for our members. If he keeps at it, Greyhold will be barren ground before the season ends. Years of planting gone in days because of a child with secrets."
