The mist thickened until it felt like breath.
Each exhale of the world drew the fog closer, weaving around Luna and Valois like a living shroud. The silhouettes of the Lunar Guard emerged from it—dozens of them, armored in moonlit silver that never dulled. Their faces were pale masks, their eyes hollowed by centuries of silence.
Valois stepped forward, sword drawn but low, a gesture of warning rather than war. “Stand aside,” he called. “We seek only passage.”
A single figure detached itself from the ranks. Its armor was older than the rest, etched with runes that pulsed faintly in the gray light. When it spoke, its voice was layered—like many voices speaking through one throat.
“You trespass on holy ground. The Moonblood line is forbidden.”
Luna’s hand went to her wrist where the mark
