The moon hung low and heavy as Selene and her companions rode through the Silent Marshes, its light struggling to break through the thick canopy overhead. With every hoofbeat through the damp earth, she could feel the energy shift—like invisible eyes watching, waiting. This was no ordinary forest. This land remembered blood, and it remembered betrayal.
Kael rode ahead, his staff glowing faintly with each turn in the winding path. “We’re almost there,” he called over his shoulder. “The seer’s hollow is near.”
Ronan was less enthused. “I don’t trust this place,” he muttered. “Too quiet. Too… dead.”
Selene didn’t blame him. The marsh was infamous in werewolf lore—a place where the dead whispered and no moon song could reach. But Kael had insisted that the Seer of Shadows lived deep within
