The morning of Kaela's eighteenth birthday dawned with a sky that was alive.
She stood on the cliffs above the harbor, watching the sun rise over Cinderhall. But the sun didn't rise in the way it always had. It pulsed. It breathed. It shifted between colors—gold and silver and deep violet. The clouds moved like living things, swirling and dancing in patterns that had no name.
The weave was free. The threads were moving. And the realm was unbound.
The sword hung at her hip. The blade was silent. Peaceful. Complete. The legacy had been carried by twenty-five generations. She was the twenty-sixth.
But she knew something her ancestors hadn't known.
Freedom came with a price.
Her mother Aurelia appeared beside her. Her hair was white now, but her eyes were still warm. Still fierce. Still
