Mist curled through the spires of Emberstone Keep as dawn bled across the eastern sky. Nyra stood atop the Weeping Terrace, cloak drawn tight against the wind’s chill. Below her, the newly rebuilt courtyard shimmered, obsidian mosaic tiles glinting like embers in the low light.“Ryker,” she called, voice carrying across the terrace. He emerged from the mist, sword still sheathed but eyes alight with vigilance.“I heard whispers,” he said, stepping beside her. “The border provinces stir. Rumors of unrest.”Nyra nodded. “We have forged a fragile peace. Now we must tend its coals before they die.”A horn sounded from below. More urgent than ceremonial. Nyra drew her cloak around her shoulders and descended the spiral stairs, Ryker at her side.In the Hall of Flames, a great circular chamber carved from volcanic rock, seats of moonwood and prism-glass circled the central dais. Around them waited the Circle of Free Sovereigns:Selene, High Starmarshal of the Moonborn GuardKaelia, Keeper o
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