The Hollow Moon burned brighter than it ever had, an omen hanging in the sky like a second sun.
Not warm.
Not guiding.
Watching.
The packs felt it.
The earth felt it.
Even the wind tasted different, sharp with the scent of something ancient awakening.
And now I knew why.
Seven nights.
Seven nights before the starless ones arrived to erase everything we knew.
The Heir, our son, born from shadow and moonlight, walked beside Ronan and me as if he had always existed in this world. He moved with the stealth of wolves and the stillness of gods, a paradox wrapped in the body of a child.
He didn’t speak.
Not yet.
He was listening to the world, to the Hollow, to the future that trembled toward us like a coming storm.
Ronan’s hand brushed mine.
A small touch, but grounding.
“We need
