The message arrived with a child.
She couldn't have been more than nine winters old, wrapped in soft grey linen, barefoot, and carrying a folded piece of parchment tied with a thin blue cord. She said nothing as she entered the outer gate, just smiled softly at the guards and handed the note to the first elder she saw.
Then she turned and walked away.
No one could stop her. No one dared.
Because the spiral branded onto her collarbone glowed faintly — not twisted, not corrupted. But clean.
Too clean.
Like it had been made to appear perfect.
When Kaelen read the note aloud, half the council stopped breathing.
"To the Spiral Valley,
You claim to want peace.
We do too.
One speaker. One listener. One day.
You choose who.
We choose where."
There was no name.
No seal.
Only a symbol at the bottom. A familiar one now.
Veilborn.
"They want to talk," Kaelen muttered as he paced the edge of the spiral circle.
