The barracks lanterns guttered low as Cerys whispered the command. Fresh chill swept the hall, stirring dust off rafters and making the torch-flames bow like servants before old kings.
"Inheritance protocol," she said again, voice steady despite the prickle running the length of her spine.
A pulse raced across the flagstones. Lines of pale azure split the floor into a rosette of sigils—family crests interlocking like linked shields. Each ring of light rose into a misty pillar, shaping itself into figures clad in bygone plate and chain. Where a heartbeat earlier there had been emptiness, now stood a semicircle of Arundel legends.
Their colors were muted, like moonlight on tarnished silver, yet details remained sharp: frayed surcoats stiff with ghost-blood, greaves dented by claws, helms etched with prayer runes. Eyes the color of cold embers fixed on her as though distance, death, and years were trivial inconveniences.
