Moments later,

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The sun dipped below the jagged western peaks, painting the sky in bruised purples and deep, smoldering oranges, as the first shadow moved through the gates of Blackwood Villa.

By the time the last sliver of light vanished, fourteen figures had already slipped away, traveling alone or in tight pairs, moving with the silent, deadly grace of creatures born in the dark. Each carried forged documents sealed with crests of long-forgotten border clans, identity markers that would pass even the strictest magical verification, and orders given only once, in private, by Aria herself.

There was no fanfare, no farewells, no blaring horns or galloping hooves - they...