The forge still glowed faintly behind them, the stone walls bathed in amber light, though the roaring flames had long since dimmed. The power awakened within Aria's crown still shimmered in the air, thick like incense, clinging to the fabric of her cloak and pulsing gently in her veins.
Aria stood at the center of the war tent the triplets had erected beside the mountain's shadow, her fingers grazing the Flameborn crown resting on the velvet-lined table. Its edges flickered softly—never fully dormant now. Ever since the reawakening, it had become more than a symbol. It was a beacon.
Around her, Dorian, Tobias, and Marcus stood in a tight semicircle, their gazes pinned to the map unfurled before them. Colored markers glowed with pack symbols—some flickering red with uncertainty, others bright with allegiance, and a few ominously darkened.
