The return to Aetherhold was colder than the climb into the Vale.
The mountain did not welcome queens forged in darkness.
Snow fell heavy, muting the sound of their approach. No horns were blown. No banners waved. Only frost-cloaked silence greeted Selena as she crossed the citadel gates, her new mantle of frostfire rippling behind her like the breath of a sleeping beast.
Kael walked beside her, grim as stone. Dante followed a few paces behind, the child nestled close to his chest. He had not spoken since they left the Hall of Pacts. His silence was not anger—it was fear. Of what they had invited. Of what they might become.
The Flamebound Guard saluted as she passed, though their eyes lingered too long on the sigils now etched along her arms—the runes of Night and Void. They pulsed faintly beneath her skin like coals buried in snow.
She noticed the glances.
She said nothing.
