Weeks passed.
The kingdom grew—stone by stone, field by field—but the unease lingered beneath the surface. Quiet. Watching.
The group near Emberwatch Pass remained, a constant presence on the edge of the kingdom's reach. They never crossed the border, never issued demands, but they lingered—shadows etched into the cliffs, distant silhouettes glimpsed by passing patrols. Some nights, a lone campfire would flicker where no merchant should be. Wards were disturbed but never shattered, their edges tested like a door gently pushed but never entered. Scouts moved through the hills in slow, practiced rotations, bearing no crest, no colors, no name. They left no tracks that weren't meant to be found—only questions.
They weren't Solis. They weren't Danu. They were something else.
And they were waiting.
