The moon hung low and full above the sacred glade, its silver light spilling across the stones like liquid glass. The night hummed with old power—older than crowns, older than kingdoms—and it waited for them.
Ahliana, the Power Princess, stood at the center of the ritual circle. Her gown of woven starlight brushed the glowing sigils carved into the ground. Her pulse matched the rhythm of the chant carried by the wind. Yet beneath all her calm, her heart raced—for this night was not about duty or lineage. It was about her. About them.
June stepped forward from the shadows, the moonlight tracing every scar that marked her strength. She hesitated at the edge of the circle, her hands trembling.
“I shouldn’t be here,” June said, her voice low and rough from battles both fought and survived.
