The horns rolled down the mountains like thunder. The ground began to shudder. The horses became unsettled, and the procession looked on with unease. Through the thinning mist, the earth's shuddering became deeper, more deliberate. It was guided by the rhythm of a march. But its beat was carried by something much rger than horses.

  They came on the high road in a line that looked like a moving pace: ten elephants cresting the ridge, tusks ringed in bck iron and gold. Fabrics flowed over their fnks, silk, velvets, all stitched with protective glyphs whose light pulsed like the fabrics themselves were breathing.

  Every one of these beasts was several times rger than any common Elephant. These were Altheryon War-Elephants. Each one was powerful enough to tangle with a mythical beast. Each one was adorned with armor ptes. Nearly every inch of their flesh was tattooed with glyphs and spells. These etchings not only provided protection to the Elephants but also to dampen the elephants’ tread, and held the howdah steady atop their backs.

  Each howdah was not a seat but a small house: carved pavilions with curtained chambers and nterns burning soft blue. Within each, a prince of Altheryon. Those who were married were accompanied by their wives, each one having no less than three. Those wives are busy tending to excited children tumbling over carpets and themselves, to get a peek at the monster city.

  The nine younger princes, too old to be coddled by their mothers, but too young to command their own war elephant, rode two or three to a pavilion under the watch of their four older, unwed sisters. The Warlock Emperor had sired twenty daughters. Those who had no desire for battle were married off across his dominion to maintain bridges thrown between kingdoms. The four present were battle-tested and ready. And served as guardians for young Royals as well as political leaders.

  Around the elephants walked the Royal Guard—few in number, but each bursting with barely contained power. Every one of them, male and female alike, was a warlock/magic swordsman, by necessity. As that was the only way to even be considered for the Royal Guard.

  At the gate, Falryn dragged himself from his crooked booth with the look of a man who had his lunch break shortened in half. He squinted at the procession, saw the rge golden procession, and his shoulders slumped further.

  The air changed again. A shadow crossed the road, long enough to swallow the road whole. The cry of a great bird filled the air. Three colossal Rocs banked out of the clouds and came down in a whirl of pressure and blowing winds. Each beast bore its own gilded howdah.

  The Emperor of Valenfor looked out the back of his carriage as he watched the great birds approach, "What a ridiculous man." He sighed and turned his attention forward.

  On the leading Roc, Rhydan Altheryon lounged as if the sky were a chaise. Two wives fed him slices of sugared citrus; two more soothed red-faced newborns swaddled in silk. Laughter boomed out of the pavilion. He spped a broad palm on his knee, pleased with the echo.

  The Rocs nded, and before Falryn could open his mouth, one of Rhydan's wives lifted the curtain, and Rhydan bellowed,

  "Greetings, Old Wolf. It is I! Rhydan Altheryon, Warlock Emperor of Altheryon." He smiled widely and stretched out his arms, motioning towards his procession,

  "I am accompanied by my family and our Royal Guard."

  A guard walked toward the "Old Wolf" and offered a scroll with both hands. Falryn took it, and sniffed the air once. With that simple action, he took in all the scents of the Royal family, confirming that they were all reted. He then checked the names on the scroll. He then counted the names and then counted the bodies of those present. The guard bowed without thinking about it after Falryn handed him the scroll back. Falryn then looked up at Rhydan, who met the wolf's stare with a smile.

  “Every time I see you,” Falryn said, “your litter gets bigger.”

  Rhydan bellowed and nearly unseated himself with delight.

  "I'm still young, Old wolf. I have too much energy." He then reached out to his side and grabbed his wife, who was holding the curtain back,

  "And too many beauties to satisfy." Rhydan's wife blushed as she tried to look away, as his other wives began to giggle in the back.

  "Old wolf, when can I expect your next visit?" Rhydan asked.

  Falryn’s answer came out as a groan. "From the look of things, when one of my own pups surpasses me." He looked over his shoulder at the hulking stone gates.

  "Someone has to guard these gates."

  Rhydan nodded,

  "Hmmm, I see. So a century? Maybe two?" He decided cheerfully,

  "Very well, then it will give us plenty of time to prepare a magnificent feast for you." He spped his knee and ughed again. Falryn groaned and waved him off. He made a hand motion, and his Roc began to walk forward.

  As the procession began to move, the Valenfor Emperor, Valerion Ashmar, held his carriage a pace longer and matched Rhydan's Roc as it strode past, the great bird’s pinions rippling like sails.

  “How do you know him? The Ashen Wolf?” Valerion asked, eyes shifted to the wolf at the gate.

  Rhydan cocked a brow, amused. "Ashen Wolf, was it? In Altheryon, we know him as Red Moon." Rhydan looked back at him and continued.

  "After the Demon War, he dwelled within our deserts for centuries. Until, his fur, once stained red, slowly returned to silver beneath centuries of sand and wind. Then he left." With a look of pride clear on his face, he patted his chest.

  "He had been friends and war-brothers with my father. A pack still runs the southern dunes, his bloodline, keepers of the empire’s desert borders.

  Valerion nodded once. He had heard of the Red Moon Pack. Imperial scouts spoke of them when they were able to return at all.

  "He visits every few decades to run with his descendants and pay respects to my father's tomb. As to how and why he made his way to Altheryon’s sands after the war, that's not my story to tell. Ask him that yourself."

  Valerion gnced back through the slit of his window. The old lycan sat down again behind his ledger as though none of it mattered; perhaps to him it did not.

  "Maybe some other time," Valerion muttered.

  Cassian’s carriage pulled alongside. He raised his voice without bothering to shape it into court formality.

  "Fascinating, truly, but I have a fiancée to see. So can we pick this up?" Two emperors—one cold as a forged bde, one warm as a desert noon—shared the same quick smirk and told him to lead.

  "You're the only one who's been here before." Valerion reasoned.

  Cassian smirked and rapped the roof with his knuckles; his driver snapped the reins.

  They crossed the threshold into the city, and the myth broke on cobblestones and commerce.

  Alleve’s Hallow did not turn. It did not lift its head. The caravans of two Empires and the Sanctum met a market. They were all used to crowds parting to make way for them, but instead, this caravan of royals and Saints... was instantly in the way. A leather-aproned orc smacked the fnk of a carriage with a hand like a paddle. A human baker shouldered through with a tray of bread. A purple creature strung beads across a stall while a dwarf insisted that the price was highway theft.

  The Rocs' shadow bnketed a square. A fruit seller did not look up at the rge preening beasts. He cut slices and passed them to small, sticky hands, and only then shouted for the great birds to find a sky that was not directly above his livelihood. Someone else shouted,

  "If it shits, I'll be damned if I'm the one cleaning it,"

  A red Orc suggested roasting one for supper if it insisted on blocking the streets when it could fly.

  Children, humans, and monsters alike noticed the Inquisitors and Saints. One boy waved enthusiastically. Another booed with the dedication of a professional and produced a spectacur loogie that missed entirely and nded on his own shoe. A horned woman caught two by the colrs and dragged them backward without breaking stride.

  "Don’t tease the zealots", she said. "They bite when frightened." The children groaned theatrically and went to find mischief elsewhere.

  The general consensus from the citizens was loud and unanimous:

  Fuck'in, move!

  Inside his carriage, Cassian watched the scowls and the indifference and let a smile loosen his jaw. I fell in love with the absolute freedom of this city. He was gd that it didn't falter under the pressure of Empires.

  “It’s good to be back,” he said.

  Kayen and Maelis, his personal guards, who accompanied him on most of his journeys. Including when he snuck his way into Hallows before, traded a look that managed to be both fond and exhausted. Kayen rubbed his temples and said,

  "Yeah... yeah, it's so great to be back. Until the Sanctum sees the demons." Cassian said nothing for a heartbeat. He had forgotten the demons.

  He was sure the Royals wouldn't care. They'd probably welcome them as a delightful measuring stick to test their strength. The other Nobles wouldn't care unless it seemed like the Royal family gave a damn. But the Sanctum... those overbearing zealots. Even if it meant ruining everything, they would do so in the name of their goddess.

  “It’s fine, it's fine...” he told himself and no one else. “We just avoid the 10-11 district, and everything will be fine.”

  Cassian stared out the window as if the city were mocking his optimism.

  The avenue widened and bled into a pza of crystal and stone. The Clock Hand Tower rose from its center like a bde that stretched into the sky. Its crystalline skin crawled with living glyphs. The gates guarded by two powerful Orcs swung inward.

  The leaders of the Hallows stood in the courtyard waiting. If the empires had expected lords and dies, they would be disappointed. They were not nobles but the living symbols of the Hallows.

  A Phoenix stood first among them, more human than bird, though fire flickered faintly beneath his skin, and feathers sprouting behind his ears. Beside him loomed a Lycan, fur bright silver and immacute, her posture rexed, but she carried a wild presence. The Orc beside them was a sb of corded muscle, tusks gleaming. The face of a man always ready for a fight.

  An elegant Vampire Queen stood just behind, pale and composed, her beauty the kind that came from centuries of careful crafting. A single human lounged at the line’s edge, dressed more like a pirate than a statesman. Rings, scars, and the kind of grin that promised trouble and profit in equal measure. Near him waited a Leviathan in humanoid form, blue-violet scales catching light like oil on water, gills pulsing slowly at her neck.

  A dwarf stood next, still in forge leathers, smelling of smoke and iron. Beside him, a witch with silver-rimmed gsses and ink-stained fingers, her expression sharp and patient. And at the far end, a radiant elf whose presence was calm and dangerous in equal measure.

  At their heart stood Morgan, and beside him Selene, her gold eyes bright and expecting. Her eyes scanned the procession, particurly looking towards the Sanctums group.

  Cassian’s gaze slid to the right of Morgan, and his chest tightened. The figure to Morgan’s right was unapologetically demonic: horns like polished obsidian, skin a pale faded purple, and a hint of silver veins flowing beneath his skin.

  His eyes were a chaotic mix of colors; they were beautifully haunting and unsettling. They didn't bother to hide themselves. Didn't even have the decency to use gmour to soften their features.

  Cassian’s stomach dropped, all at once, to somewhere beneath the floor of the carriage. He breathed in. He breathed out.

  “FFFFFuuuuuck!"