The chamber smelled of incense and iron. Shadows clung to the vaulted ceiling, where runes burned faintly like watchful eyes. Around the obsidian table sat Umbra's most powerful merchants, warlords, and guildmasters—men and women who owed their fortunes to the empire Nyasha's father had built.
And at the head sat Darius Okoye, the Iron Lord, Nyasha's father. His hair had gone white in streaks since she last saw him, but his presence still bent the room like a blade pressed against a throat.
Yet even he was not the most dangerous man there.
That title belonged to the figure in silver-grey robes at his right hand—Envoy Malrek, the Covenant's mouthpiece. His voice was soft, smooth, and suffocating as silk.
"Reports confirm it," Malrek said, hands folded like a priest's. "Your daughter has returned. And she is not skulking in shadows. She walks the streets with the Emberheart blazing at her chest. She recruits allies. Dangerous ones."
A murmur ran through the council.
Darius's jaw clenched. "She has no army. She has no claim. She will break herself against the city's walls."
Malrek's thin smile never wavered. "Perhaps. But blood is a powerful banner, Iron Lord. Those who once served your wife may be tempted to serve your daughter. That cannot be allowed."
A guildmaster—a heavyset woman with jeweled fingers—leaned forward. "If the girl builds momentum, trade will falter. Fear spreads fast in Umbra's Gate."
Malrek spread his hands. "Then let fear spread… from us. A swift strike. Public. Let the city see what becomes of rebels."
Darius's fist slammed the table, rattling cups. "She is my blood!" His voice echoed through the chamber. For an instant, there was silence—raw, human, fatherly.
Malrek's gaze flicked to him, cold and patient. "She is also your weakness."
The council shifted uncomfortably.
Darius swallowed hard, then straightened, mask sliding back into place. "Then we hunt her. But she must be taken alive."
Malrek's smile sharpened. "Alive, then. For now."
The runes above flickered, and for a moment, the chamber seemed to darken.
Nyasha had moved. Darius had chosen. And the Covenant had marked her.
The chamber smelled of incense and iron. Shadows clung to the vaulted ceiling, where runes burned faintly like watchful eyes. Around the obsidian table sat Umbra's most powerful merchants, warlords, and guildmasters—men and women who owed their fortunes to the empire Nyasha's father had built.
And at the head sat Darius Okoye, the Iron Lord, Nyasha's father. His hair had gone white in streaks since she last saw him, but his presence still bent the room like a blade pressed against a throat.
Yet even he was not the most dangerous man there.
That title belonged to the figure in silver-grey robes at his right hand—Envoy Malrek, the Covenant's mouthpiece. His voice was soft, smooth, and suffocating as silk.
"Reports confirm it," Malrek said, hands folded like a priest's. "Your daughter has returned. And she is not skulking in shadows. She walks the streets with the Emberheart blazing at her chest. She recruits allies. Dangerous ones."
A murmur ran through the council.
Darius's jaw clenched. "She has no army. She has no claim. She will break herself against the city's walls."
Malrek's thin smile never wavered. "Perhaps. But blood is a powerful banner, Iron Lord. Those who once served your wife may be tempted to serve your daughter. That cannot be allowed."
A guildmaster—a heavyset woman with jeweled fingers—leaned forward. "If the girl builds momentum, trade will falter. Fear spreads fast in Umbra's Gate."
Malrek spread his hands. "Then let fear spread… from us. A swift strike. Public. Let the city see what becomes of rebels."
Darius's fist slammed the table, rattling cups. "She is my blood!" His voice echoed through the chamber. For an instant, there was silence—raw, human, fatherly.
Malrek's gaze flicked to him, cold and patient. "She is also your weakness."
The council shifted uncomfortably.
Darius swallowed hard, then straightened, mask sliding back into place. "Then we hunt her. But she must be taken alive."
Malrek's smile sharpened. "Alive, then. For now."
The runes above flickered, and for a moment, the chamber seemed to darken.
Nyasha had moved. Darius had chosen. And the Covenant had marked her.