Mira & Lucien & Delyra
The sky was silver.
Not pale. Not soft.
Silver.
The lunar bloom had begun to rise, its petals stretching across the horizon like a crown forged from breath and blood. The convergence was hours away, but the pack had already begun to gather—cloaks drawn, glyphs exposed, eyes lifted.
Mira stood at the edge of the ritual grounds, her wrist still glowing with Lucien’s bite. The glyph had settled into her bloodstream, humming in rhythm with the Archive’s pulse. She wasn’t just Luna now. She was living canon.
Lucien walked beside her, his shift held just beneath the skin. His eyes burned gold. His voice was steady. But inside, the glyph was stirring again—ready to speak, ready to judge.
Delyra arrived last.
Her blade was sheathed.
Her mother’s glyph hovered beside
