Night fell across the kingdom like a veil, deep purples bleeding into black.
The storm-born glow from the marsh had long faded, yet its echo clung to the land in unsettling ways. Lights flickered without cause. Trees whispered in tongues wolves did not know. The ancient wards surrounding the palace pulsed, not weakening—but waking, as if startled by something they had not felt in centuries.
The witches felt it first.
Deep in the eastern ruins—where stone spires jutted like broken teeth, and ivy slithered through collapsed temple floors—the coven stirred from their meditation circles.
Not gently.
Not with recognition.
With fear.
The oldest witch gasped, stumbling backward as if struck, her heel catching on the uneven stone. A bowl of moonwater shattered, silver liquid spilling across
