The Howling Throne
The Hollow Realm trembled.
The jagged ground beneath Elior’s feet cracked further, pieces of stone breaking away into the abyss below. The fractured sky above twisted, dawn and night swirling like an unsteady reflection in shattered glass. The throne loomed behind him, an ancient, unfinished thing waiting for its new ruler.
And Sienna stood before him, power crackling at her fingertips, her silver eyes unreadable.
“I won’t let you take the throne,” she said.
Rael’s sword was already in his hands, but Myrra placed a hand on his shoulder, silently urging caution. Bram stood rigid, gripping his greatsword, his muscles tense with restrained fury.
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