Lena sat at the small wooden table in her cottage, the old grimoire spread open in front of her. Her hands were trembling slightly, her fingers tracing the ancient symbols and faded words. The weight of what she had discovered pressed down on her, as heavy as the mist that always clung to Ashen Hollow. She hadn’t stopped thinking about the words written in that book, the revelation that she was the last of the Morrigan bloodline, witches sworn to protect the leyline.
Her chest tightened with fear, but there was something else too—something she couldn’t quite name. Power.
She could feel it now, thrumming just beneath her skin, the magic waking up inside her like a sleeping giant slowly stirring. And with it came a sense of inevitability. This was her destiny. The thing she had tried to ig
