The wind howling through the Grey Peaks felt like the screams of a thousand vengeful spirits, matching the storm brewing in my own chest. I sat on the cold stone of the Altar of Purity, my fingers trembling as I brushed a lock of silver hair away from Leo’s pale forehead. He was so small, so innocent, and yet he was the center of a war that spanned generations.
The blood from my palm—the silver, glowing ichor of the Moon Lineage—dripped onto the dark obsidian, sizzling like water on a hot stove. The pain was a distant hum, eclipsed by the sight of the woman standing at the edge of the torchlight.
Sienna.
She looked different. The polished, porcelain Luna of the Black Mountain was gone. Her hair was lank, her eyes sunken and rimmed with a feverish, desperate red. She didn’t look like a w
