It had been a bitter week in Naggarond, the winds howling over its jagged spires as blood offerings burned beneath the obsidian citadel. Malekithra had spent her nights in the Black Court’s upper sanctum, pouring over fractured scrying-globes and war-table reports. The Hellebronites had grown restless again, and Corsair captains whispered treachery in Karond Kar.

She stood now at the high window, clad in blackened plate, the firelight casting a molten sheen across her ruined helm. Beside her, a map of Ulthuan lay pinned beneath a ceremonial dagger.

The chamber door creaked open.

She did not turn around. Just waiting for who dared enter speak their words.