The morning light had barely cleared the eastern peaks when the heavy bronze bells of the upper courtyard began to ring. It wasn't the rhythmic, slow chime of a death knell, nor was it the frantic, clanging alarm of a border raid. It was the steady, double-strike of a weather mandate.

Nila stood by the window of Kaelen's private solar, watching chaos break out in the yard below. Stable hands were already sprinting toward the lower paddocks, shouting to be heard over the rising wind as they began herding the heavy draft horses into the stone barns. Kitchen omegas hurried across the gravel, arms loaded with heavy canvas tarps to...