The second time the dream came, it didn’t wait for sleep.
It dragged me under.
One moment, I was staring at the chains wrapped around my wrists—tracking the faint pulse in their markings, memorizing the rhythm.
The next—
Fire.
Not memory.
Not imagination.
Fire that breathed.
Fire that moved.
Fire that lived.
My lungs seized as smoke filled my chest, thick and suffocating. The air burned going in, scorched coming out. Heat pressed in from every direction, swallowing the sky, devouring everything it touched.
Bloodmoon.
I was standing in the courtyard.
No chains.
No cell.
No present.
Just—
That night.
My pulse pounded violently as my gaze snapped around. Warriors clashed in every direction. The ground was soaked in blood. The walls—our walls—were crumbling under the force of
