The banners of the northern tribes rose against the dawn like a sea of color — crimson wolves, golden stags, and black serpents coiling across the wind. Isla stood upon the balcony of the citadel as they poured into the city square, their war drums beating a rhythm that echoed through the streets.
Below, thousands had gathered. Nobles, soldiers, and commoners alike pressed against the barricades to witness what would be remembered as the Gathering of Fire. It had been decades since the northern clans had stepped foot in the capital, and now they came under uneasy banners of peace.
Luca stood beside Isla, his expression grave. "They came armed," he murmured.
"I expected nothing less," Isla replied, her tone steady but cold. "The north has never come without its teeth."
