The Crescent Remnant
The sky was too quiet.
Not silent. But eerily calm—the kind of calm that usually came before something unspeakable. Raine stood at the edge of the northern watchtower, eyes scanning the distant ridge that marked the Crescent Clan’s last known stronghold. Even in exile, the remnants of Veyra’s followers hadn’t vanished.
They were regrouping.
Rebuilding.
Waiting.
“She was never acting alone,” Liora said from behind her, her tone hushed but certain. “That kind of madness doesn’t rise without whispers in the dark.”
Raine nodded. “There’s someone else. Someone she was answering to. Or afraid of.”
“And they’ll come for Lyra again.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a certainty.
A soft sound made Raine turn.
Lyra sat cross-legged on the tower’s stone floor, her white ey
