Atlas >>>
The room was filled with the scent of parchment, wax, and steel—ink drying on reports, letters being sealed, and the ever-present tang of iron from the weapons lined along the walls. Outside, the night roared with festival cheers, but here, inside the war room of our temporary lodging, it was business as usual.
Kaleb entered, his movements sharp, his cloak sweeping behind him. "News from Silver Rose," he announced, his tone clipped. "Damien is dead."
I stilled. The quill in my hand splintered, ink bleeding across the parchment like a wound. Slowly, deliberately, I set the ruined pen aside. "How?"
"They've crowned a new Alpha King. No blood claim—some upstart Beta General. Calls himself a chosen successor." Kaleb's lip curled. "Rumors say he's loyal, but I don't trust that he won't try to stir the pot."