The snow had ceased.
Not because the storm had passed, but because the sky held its breath.
Leon stood on the south wall, watching the procession draw nearer. Nine coffins, carried on black palanquins by figures cloaked in silence. No drumbeat. No chant. Just the crunch of frost beneath deliberate steps.
Kellen joined him, gaze fixed. "You're certain that crest was yours?"
Leon didn't answer immediately. His eyes were locked on the lead coffin's wrappings. The silver thread didn't lie.
"Yes."
Elaine stepped beside them, her cloak still dusted with ash. "Then they're not bluffing anymore."
Marien arrived last, helm under her arm, her brow knit tight. "We brought the battle to their blades. Now they want to bring it to our blood."
Leon turned from the parapet. "Call the inner ring to muster. All command ranks. And ready a chamber. We hold council within the hour."
