The roar of the courtyard did not fade all at once.
It unraveled slowly, like thunder rolling away from a storm that had already struck.
Kneeling Alphas rose one by one, the scrape of boots against cracked stone echoing in uneven rhythm. Some looked shaken. Some reverent. Some deeply unsettled by what they had just witnessed.
But none looked unconvinced.
The Rite had ended.
And the world had tilted.
Aria stood at the center of the circle a moment longer than necessary.
Not for effect.
Because she could feel it.
The shift.
It moved through the Citadel like an unseen tremor, vibrating through stone, through bloodlines, through instincts older than crowns. Power did not live in thrones.
It lived in perception.
And perception had just changed.
The Creststone behind her was dark again now. Quiet. Dormant. As if the ancient relic had decided its work here was finished.
