Dawn did not break gently.
It tore through the horizon in bruised shades of red and gold, as if the sky itself understood what was coming. Camps sprawled across the valley like a living thing iron, fire, and men bound by oaths that could still shatter under pressure.
Isabella stood at the edge of the ridge, wrapped in a dark cloak, one hand resting unconsciously over her stomach.
Life.
War.
Both growing inside her at once.
Below, the combined forces moved with tense precision. Luca's elite guards drilled silently, their movements sharp and lethal. The Iron Crown soldiers once Damian's, now hers checked weapons, murmured prayers, adjusted armor. Seraphina's defectors kept to themselves, eyes always scanning, trust still fragile as glass.
And beyond the valley, unseen but felt
Alessandro Moretti was waiting.
"You should be resting."
