The ashes of Nyra had barely cooled before the first ripple of dread whispered through the air.
Maria stood at the edge of the Sacred Hollow, eyes still trained on the dark stain where her mirror-self had crumbled. The stars were muted behind thick clouds. The fire had gone out, but the scent of scorched magic lingered, acrid and unclean.
“She used a spell she had no right to know,” Maria murmured.
Luca, shirtless and bruised, crouched beside her. “You recognize it?”
“I felt it. It wasn’t hers. It came from... below.”
Joseph’s gaze narrowed. “You mean the Hollow Stone Council.”
“No,” Maria said, shaking her head slowly. “Something older. Something they buried.”
*
*
Back at the Silver Moon stronghold, Maria locked herself in the library.
The ancient wing—sealed for decades, breath
