THE SUBSTITUTE MATE FOR THE ALPHA KING
There was no sign of us.
We were gone. Truly gone, this time.
But as the men gathered their wits and prepared to clear the wood, one of them, the youngest, knelt by the stump. He placed his hand on the clean, cut wood.
It was warm.
And carved into the surface of the stump, as if it had grown there over a hundred years, was a perfect, intricate symbol. It wasn't the sigil of Cresendo or the mark of the Serpent's Tail. It was a new symbol. A single, continuous line that wove together the shape of a willow leaf and the curve of a mountain peak, forever intertwined.
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