Emily Rosewood’s Point of View.
The day I met the woman I might still become
The chamber pulsed with residual energy from the vision—my blood still shimmered faintly where it had been drawn into the Mooncradle’s hollow roots. The name that echoed in the silence—Thalen, Heir of the First Moon—felt like a splinter embedded in my thoughts.
I turned toward the others.
Lyra’s face was unreadable, but her eyes burned with conflict. Kira, crouched near the base of the roots, whispered, “Thalen… that name was never meant to rise again.”
I pressed my fingers to my temples. “Who is he? Why did the Mooncradle show me him?”
“The Mooncradle doesn’t show lies,” said Elder Maelor, who had emerged silently from a corridor of crystal roots. His robes were heavy with pollen and age, and his voice crac
