The Shadow Court convened for the first time in thirty years. Elders arrived in cloaked convoys—some human in appearance, others less so. The great obsidian hall was lit with spelllight and bound flame, and Elara sat beside Aldric, her presence stirring whispers.
"She's the moon-blooded," one hissed.
"She walks with the glyph awake," another murmured.
Moriah stood before them all. "The Herald stirs beneath the southern sector. The Veil thins. A mortal city may fall within the week if we do not act."
An elder slammed a rune-staff to the floor. "Then we fight!"
A second shook her head. "We flee. Let the Courts battle each other until one survives."
Elara stood.
The hall quieted.
"I've seen the Herald," she said. "I've heard it whisper. If we abandon this city, it will not stop. It will rise. And it will hunt us."
"And what would you do?" one elder sneered. "You're a child in power you barely understand."
Elara's glyph flared. Her voice rang out:
"Then let me understand it—by wielding it."
The room trembled with approval and unease.
In the shadows, Vessara watched unseen.
And far below, in the dark chamber beneath the earth, the Herald opened one eye.