Emily Rosewood’s Point of View.
Three dawns after the Gathering – the day the sky began to forget its own color
The wind howled over the scorched remnants of the battlefield. The Gathering was no more—its ancient stones cracked and steaming, its sacred circle shattered. The clans had scattered in the aftermath, their unity torn apart by betrayal, flame, and prophecy. What remained now were broken banners, the scent of ash, and a silence thick with mourning.
I stood at the edge of the ruined circle, my skin still marked with glowing sigils from the sealing of the Well of Undoing. My hands trembled—not from exhaustion, but from the weight of what had been locked away. Whatever stirred beneath the surface of that Well, it had reached out to me, called to me by name in a voice that sounded
