The silver mark under Nyra’s skin pulsed once. Twice. A third time. Light spilled across her throat, smooth and cold—like moonlight swimming under her skin.
Everyone in the courtyard saw it. Nobody understood. But they all felt it. There was this ancient weight pressing down on Blackthorn Keep. Heavy, invisible—strong enough to silence a thousand people in an instant.
Rain kept falling, but the sound drifted off, muffled and small compared to what was happening now.
All eyes locked on Nyra.
Even she stared in shock at her own body. The mark shimmered just under her skin, alive, waking up, keyed to something none of them could name. Fear crawled up her ribcage.
“What is happening?”
No one answered. Not because they wouldn’t—but because they simply couldn’t.
Kael’s face darkened. Ryke
