They began as whispers.
A story traded between travelers at dying campfires. A warning murmured to reckless hunters who strayed too close to the old borders. A prayer spoken by children who had never seen war but somehow feared the dark anyway.
The Moon-Bound Guardian is watching.
Seraphine heard them all.
Sound traveled differently across the Veil. Words did not reach her as language but as impressions flickers of thought, echoes of belief, threads of attention that brushed against the power sustaining her existence. Humans were faint, their voices brief as sparks. Supernaturals burned brighter.
Wolves brightest of all.
She stood on a ridge of pale stone overlooking the mortal world, the boundary stretched thin as gossamer before her. Below, Nightfall territory lay quiet beneath a w
