The chilling weight of his words hung in the damp air of the arena, turning the subterranean chill into a suffocating ice.
The High King.
The central crown, a power structure that had loomed over the outer realms for centuries like a distant, sleeping beast, was finally turning its eyes toward the South. And not just toward the strategic mountain passes or the ancient dragon wards—they wanted the blood-core currently humming beneath my own ribs.
They want my core? The core I accidentally absorbed while trying to save a dragon and clean a dusty hallway? Over my dead body. Literally.
"They think they can just march down here and take it?" I whispered, my voice trembling slightly, though not from fear—from a sudden, hot surge of indignation. "After everything this realm has bled to keep its independence?"
