The doors of the great hall groaned open, spilling a gust of freezing air across the stone floor. Liora's eyes narrowed as the old woman entered, flanked by two trembling guards.
Elder Myrren's robes dragged along the ground, silver embroidery catching faint light from the torches that refused to burn steady. Her staff clicked once against the floor, a sound that silenced the entire chamber. Even the flames bowed lower.
"Blood Alpha," Myrren said, her voice calm, ancient, sharp. "You wear a crown forged from death and think the gods do not remember. But they do."
Liora straightened, chin raised. "You come to kneel or to preach?"
The elder's faded eyes met hers, unwavering. "Neither. I come to warn you before the world ends beneath your feet."
A murmur rippled through the few guards who dared to stand behind Liora. She lifted her hand slightly, and they fell silent.
"What do you know about this… prophecy?" Liora asked. "The red moon, the tremors, the shadows in my sleep?"
