Chapter 33 – The Broken Alpha

The war room was supposed to feel like power.

Its walls were carved from obsidian and old mountain stone, filled with relics of past battles and the scent of cedar ash. Maps spanned the long table—scrolls edged with crimson wax, sealed orders, glyphs of territorial oaths.

But today, Kael could only taste bitterness in the air.

The room was loud. Not with sound, but tension. The kind that tightened in the chest like a vise. The noble lords had gathered too quickly. Word had spread—of Lyra's declaration, of the Flameborn forming under her command.

And now… whispers had turned to murmurs. Murmurs to growls.

"She cannot name herself a general," snapped Lord Merren of the Icefang Hills. "It violates every custom of—"

"Custom?" Kael's voice was calm, but sharp as a blade. "Which custom? The one where women bleed for us but are never permitted to lead us? Or the one where traitors sit at this table and pretend loyalty?"