The sky bled crimson.
Above the jagged peaks of the Black Hollow, the blood moon hung heavy, staining the clouds like spilled wine. The air was thick with magic — old, bitter, and ancient.
Ivy stood at the edge of the abyss, cloaked in black, a silver dagger strapped to her thigh. Her flame mark pulsed faintly beneath her collarbone, hidden beneath a thin layer of protective ash Kael had smeared on her skin. It dulled the glow — a trick to buy time.
Behind her, the army waited in silence — warriors cloaked in shadows, seers hidden in the trees, Kael crouched behind her with Ember, Magnus, and Thorne ready for a coordinated strike.
“I go alone from here,” she whispered, gaze locked ahead.
Kael touched her hand briefly. “You remember the signal?”
“Three flares,” she nodded. “Red for da
