The night deepened around the ruined shrine, and the forest slowly reclaimed the quiet that the earlier battle had shattered. Yet the silence did not bring peace. It carried a tension that pressed against the air like an approaching storm, heavy with the knowledge that what had been revealed tonight could never be undone. Lyra stood near the broken archway of the shrine, her gaze fixed on the dark line of trees stretching endlessly beyond the clearing. Somewhere in that darkness Rowan’s wolves were running, carrying word of what they had witnessed. The glowing mark on her wrist pulsed faintly beneath her skin, steady and patient, as though it understood something she did not yet fully grasp. Kael remained near the ancient altar behind her, his posture rigid as his eyes scanned the forest with the quiet alertness of a predator that had learned never to trust the calm after a hunt. Neither of them spoke for a long time. Lyra finally broke the silence. “Tell me about the council.” Her vo
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