Dawn did not creep across the Citadel.
It arrived like a blade.
The sky split open in streaks of molten gold and iron gray, clouds bruised from the night's tension. The courtyard below the central tower had been transformed overnight. Torches ringed the perimeter in tall iron braziers. Banners bearing the sigil of the throne hung between stone pillars. The ancient circle of the Rite had been carved clean of moss and dust, its symbols etched deep into the granite floor.
Power liked ceremony.
And ceremony liked witnesses.
They came in waves.
Council elders in layered robes heavy with embroidery and old authority. Pack Alphas from the outer territories, some proud, some calculating. Envoys from allied courts who watched everything with polite detachment and hungry eyes.
No one wanted to miss this.
No one wanted to blink.
Aria stood in the antechamber overlooking the courtyard.
