The Myrindar scout stumbled into the city at dawn.
Zekar was already awake. He had been for hours, watching Emery sleep, memorizing the way her breath feathered across her lips. But the moment the alarm bells began their low, urgent clang, he was moving. Dressing. Running.
He found the scout in the healer's tent, surrounded by council members who had arrived before him. The woman was young, barely past girlhood, her grey Myrindar clothes dark with blood that was not hers. A gash ran across her forehead, still seeping, and her hands trembled as she drank from the cup Elara had pressed into them.
"They're in the pass," she gasped. "The eastern pass. Five hundred, maybe more. Vordhûr mostly, but I saw Thalyrin colors too. Water-warriors." She swallowed hard. "They're moving faster than we thought. Pushing hard. They'll be through in two days if nothing stops them."
Zekar's blood went cold.
Two days. They had thought they had a week.
