The return to the mountains was not the victory march Kaelen had envisioned. As he and a limping Lyra climbed the final pass toward the Nest, the air felt heavy, saturated with a static charge that made the hairs on Kaelen's arms stand up.
"The mountain is screaming," Lyra whispered, her hand trembling in Kaelen's.
She was right. The low-frequency hum of the Aetheria was no longer a steady heartbeat; it was a frantic, irregular thrum. When they finally reached the black stone gates of the Nest, they found the guards replaced. These weren't the shadowed acolytes they knew. These were men in polished slate armor, their eyes glowing with a forced, artificial blue light.
"Halt," one commanded, raising a spear that crackled with energy. "The Obsidian Veil is under the protection of the High Council now."
Kaelen stepped forward, his face like flint. "I am Kaelen. This is Lyra. We are the shadows of this mountain. Where is Master Vane?"