Morwenna's POV
Night tasted like blood.
I stood at the edge of the training grounds, barefoot in the snow, my breath misting in the bitter air. Everything around me burned, not with fire, but with questions. The shard pulsed in my palm like it had a heartbeat of its own. It wanted out. Or maybe it wanted more.
Behind me, the palace smoldered from the earlier attack. Repairs had already begun, but ashes still clung to the walls. The scent of scorched fur, silver, and old magic soaked the stones.
Sabine watched from the terrace above, her arms folded. She hadn’t spoken since I began. She didn’t need to. Her silence was louder than prophecy.
I closed my eyes and stepped into the circle drawn in chalk and wolf blood. The old language vibrated beneath my feet. Not words, as intent.
“Again
