The dream wasn’t his.
Ronan knew that the moment he opened his eyes and found himself standing in a place that did not exist.
The ground beneath his feet was smooth and pale, like stone polished by centuries of hands. No scent. No wind. No sound except the steady echo of a heartbeat that was not his own.
Stand.
The word pressed against his mind—not a command shouted, but a suggestion wrapped in certainty.
He snarled, baring teeth that weren’t fully there. “Get out of my head.”
The silver mark on his shoulder burned.
The world shifted.
Suddenly, he wasn’t alone.
A figure stood several paces away—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed not in armor or regalia, but simple robes the color of ash. His presence was calm in a way that scraped raw nerves.
“You’re resisting,” the man observed mil
