The light from the pedestal still shimmered in Cassia’s eyes.
Nova watched her daughter like a hawk, every breath, every flick of her fingers, every twitch in her brow. There was power humming around her, ancient and sentient, crawling into the marrow of their bones and whispering secrets in the air.
But the voice they had just heard lingered.
Her mother’s voice.
After decades of silence, after betrayal and war and loss, it returned like a dagger wrapped in silk.
Nova knelt before the pedestal. “What is this place really?”
Kael’s voice came from the side, low and reverent. “This was the cradle of the split. The first flames were drawn here. The first betrayals too.”
“I know,” Nova whispered. “Because that was her voice. Lady Maelora Ashford.”
Elyra stiffened.
“She never told you.”
