The ground trembled as stone split open beneath Rowan’s feet.
From the fractured altar, silver light poured forth—pure, radiant, ancient. The Echo hissed, recoiling as if burned, its shadowy form flickering, unraveling at the edges. And then…
She rose.
Mother Moon.
Not as a myth.
Not as a whisper.
But as a presence—formless and vast, her energy too sacred for the human eye, her voice resonating in the marrow of every living thing. The trees bowed. The wind stilled. Even the stars above seemed to hold their breath.
“You desecrated my Echo,” her voice rang, neither male nor female, young nor old.
“You bound my child. You sought to twist my design.”
The Echo staggered back, snarling.
“You are too late.”
“I am eternal,” Mother Moon replied, her voice becoming thunder and lullaby, mo
