Selene’s POV
The stone cracked like a bone under pressure.
I didn’t drop it.
Couldn’t.
It fused to my palm—cold seeping up my arm, through my veins, into my spine like a second pulse. My body recoiled, but my soul leaned closer.
Because I knew what this was.
Not magic.
Not prophecy.
Memory.
Too old to belong to me, and yet still tied to my blood.
“She’s waking,” the Prophet whispered again, voice trembling now. “The one who wrote the first version of the Spiral. The one even the Mother feared.”
Kade stepped forward, hand on his blade. “The first what?”
The Prophet turned her blind eyes toward him.
“The first Selene.”
The fire died without smoke.
The stone in my hand hummed.
And deep inside me, something blinked.
Not consciousness.
Not awareness.
Recognition.
The kind of
