Elara stepped into the hall like a celestial storm.
Everyone stared.
She didn't flinch.
"You want to lead the Court?" she asked Daevos. "Then take it."
He sneered. "You can't give what you don't possess."
"I wasn't offering. I was baiting."
She raised her hand—and the dream-glyph she had earned in the Herald's realm flashed white-hot. The scythe in Daevos' grip disintegrated. His cloak caught fire.
Elders gasped as Elara crossed the room and stood beside Aldric.
"His rule stands," she said. "But mine begins."
"What are you declaring?" one elder asked.
"I'm not your queen. I'm your reckoning."
Moriah stepped in, bowing low. "The glyph speaks. And we listen."
Aldric rose, stunned.
She helped him stand. "Your enemies are mine," she said. "But so are your mistakes. From now on, I won't be your shadow."
He nodded slowly. "You never were."
Behind her, the walls of the Court glowed with new magic—her magic.
And below the city, the Herald opened both eyes.