The glow of the second Blood Moon faded into the early dawn, its crimson hue dissolving into the soft silver of a new era. The battle was over, the war won, but the weight of what had transpired still clung to the air, heavy with exhaustion, relief, and the quiet hum of something yet to come. The land itself seemed to breathe, relieved of the violence and magic that had scorched it for generations.
Layla stood in the center of the battlefield, her body weak but her spirit unbroken. The mantle of Blackthorne, the legacy of power that had shaped her father’s rule, was no longer hers to bear. The chains of her bloodline had been severed, and with them, the cycle of tyranny her family had perpetuated for generations. She had chosen a different path, one built not on fear, but on unity. And ye
