The candle burned low, casting flickering shadows over the journals and tomes spread across Daisy’s desk. Outside, the rain had eased to a steady drizzle, the patter on the stone walls a muted backdrop to her frantic study. The Moon’s Tear glimmered faintly at her throat, its pulse steady but insistent, as though it were alive and aware of the pages before her.
Daisy’s fingers traced the delicate ink of her mother’s handwriting, her focus narrowing on a single passage in the oldest journal:
"The Moon’s Tear is a paradox—a source of both life and death. It amplifies magic, but it also attracts it. A beacon cannot help but call out to those who seek light… or power."
The words seemed to leap from the page, twisting in her mind like vines seeking purchase. The Ke’tala, the attacks, the str
