Lamplight glowed dimly within the hidden alcove, illuminating the yellowed scrolls and battered tomes spread across a makeshift table. The rogue hideout reeked of secrecy—its earthen walls muffled sound, while the low torch sconces offered just enough light for clandestine study. Aria knelt among the scattered parchment, heart pounding as she deciphered the archaic runes etched in faint crimson ink.
A rogue named Silas—tall and lean, his soft-spoken demeanor hiding a sharp intellect—hovered near her shoulder. He’d proven a surprisingly attentive mentor, guiding her through the labyrinth of old werewolf lore. Unlike the more brutal rogues, Silas spoke with near-academic fascination for the Blood Moon’s powers, urging Aria to see it not as mere violence but a path to liberation.
She traced
