The first sign of High Priestess Ithara came not with words, but with silence.
A village near the border burned overnight.
No survivors.
No witnesses.
Only symbols carved into ash.
Elira stood beside Kael in the war chamber as reports were delivered. Rykor spoke in steady tones, Serin listened with growing unease, and Maelor examined the symbols with a face that had gone pale in a way Elira had never seen before.
"These are not war markings," Maelor said.
Kael's gaze did not shift. "Then name them."
Maelor hesitated.
"Containment rites."
Elira frowned. "Containment of what?"
Before anyone answered, the air in the chamber shifted.
Not physically.
But perceptibly.
As though something far away had turned its attention toward them.
Kael's hand tightened slightly at his side.
Elira felt it instantly.
Not fear.
Recognition.