The air outside his chambers was still.
Too still.
Riven stepped into the corridor, his boots landing with quiet precision on the rune-carved blackstone beneath him.
And then he saw them.
All five of his generals—Nyx, Krux, Damon, Aria, and Mal—stood in a loose formation just beyond the threshold of his quarters, positioned like a wall between him and the rest of the palace. None spoke. None moved. They simply waited, weapons sheathed but hands never far from the hilts.
Riven's eyes narrowed.
"You're all up early," he said, voice calm but edged with curiosity. "Or didn't you sleep?"
Damon was the first to speak, his arms crossed, earth-toned armor still marked with faint scuffs from the sparring match hours earlier. "Didn't need to."
Krux nodded once beside him, expression unusually serious. "We felt it."
"Felt what?"
