The clearing smelled of damp earth and crushed leaves, moonlight pooling softly between the trees like spilled silver. Aria stood barefoot at its center, toes curling instinctively into the cool soil as power stirred beneath her skin.
“Again,” Lyr said, too calm, too patient.
Aria exhaled sharply and lifted her hands.
Moonfire bloomed.
At first it was beautiful—pale, luminous threads unfurling from her palms like ribbons caught in a slow current. The light hummed, warm and alive, responding to her breath. Hope flickered in her chest.
Then a memory slipped in.
Gold eyes. A hard voice. Rejected.
The Moonfire convulsed.
Light snapped into jagged arcs, slashing outward with a shriek like tearing silk. The ground scorched. A nearby tree blackened at the bark, smoking faintly.
Aria crie
