The well was older than anything Elias had ever seen.
Carved with runes that pulsed only under moonlight, sealed by spells that hummed with forgotten power. He crouched beside it, hands coated in ash and silver dust, whispering incantations in a language even the Echo had to relearn.
He wasn’t summoning. Not exactly.
He was waking it up.
As the wind shifted and the sigils glowed, the water in the well darkened—no longer reflecting stars but absorbing them.
Behind him, the trees rustled.
Something answered.
Not in words.
In hunger.
---
Luna woke inside a dream that didn’t feel like hers.
She was standing in the field behind Lyra’s cottage—except the sky was wrong. It was too close. Stars moved like eyes, and the moon bled silver fire.
And across from her stood… herself.
Sort of
