The pact had been sealed, but peace did not follow.
The Revenant emissaries returned to their realms, scattered across the broken world to rouse armies from ash and forgotten tombs. Yet even as fire and frost aligned beneath her banner, Selena knew the war had merely paused to take a breath.
And in the breath between battles, something darker stirred.
He had watched her during the ritual—never speaking, never bleeding, never bowing. Now, as the others departed into the storm, he stepped forward from the edge of the Hall of Pacts. He moved like oil poured through smoke, his shadow stretching longer than it should, untouched by light.
His cloak shimmered with runes that crawled like living things. His face was obscured beneath a veil of midnight silk, though two stars glinted faintly behind it—eyes, perhaps, or something that only pretended to be.
"You summoned us," he said, his voice both young and old, "but not all of us came willingly."
