Alone again, three weeks past the fight, Sage walked through ruins where the Council once held power, fighting the weight pressing down. The air still smelled of burnt stone. Not much remained - just cracked walls leaning like broken teeth under gray sky. Boots crunched on shattered glass with every step forward. Memories flickered without warning, sharp at the edges. Breathing slow helped a little. Silence stretched wider than it should have. This place used to hum with voices. Now even echoes refused to stay.
Ashford fortress loomed large - its stone bones cut deep into the mountain's east face, built wide enough for three hundred wolves, meant to show the Council's grip on every corner of the land. These days it serves another purpose. Remade piece by piece. Once a center where orders flowed down, now becoming what no one has seen until now.
A network hub.
