The leash tightened like a cold hand at his sternum.
Caedrion felt it first as a whisper beneath his ribs, a steady, patient tapping that had, for months, marked his waking hours into a ledger of debts.
Now it called like a bell. Time, once a slow river for planning, had thinned into a thread and was about to snap.
He left the caverns with the key she had helped him braid.
The corridor up to the palace smelled of pine smoke and hot metal.
Dawnhaven's waking noise rose around him: apprentices arguing over tempering, a cart's wheels clattering along stone, the distant shout of a captain testing the morning's drill.
Outside, the banners he had raised flapped in a light wind, black and gold against a pale sky.
The war room door opened on their faces.
Aelindria rose from her seat as if she had been waiting for that moment her whole life.
Sylene stood like a sentinel, blade sheathed but presence raw.
Malveris's hands trembled only slightly as he folded his arms.
