Sylvie Lightwhisper perched on a jagged outcrop overlooking the cratered courtyard of Emberfall's Red Spire, heart pounding beneath her leather bodice. The Blood Moon had risen, painting the volcanic walls a bruised crimson. Below, flickering torches lined the collapsed throne room and half-buried statues of molten bronze. This was where the next shard of the Blood-Iron Gong lay hidden—entombed in the Spire's molten heart.
“Ready?" Thorne Blackveil's voice rumbled beside her. He'd shed his wolf mask, face streaked with soot and determination. His cloak snapped in the sulfurous breeze.
Sylvie drew a slow breath and nodded. “The shard responds to my voice, but under the Blood Moon… its power is unpredictable." She fingered the glass vial hanging at her belt, containing the fused shard from
