The air inside the ancient chamber trembled with power.
It was deeper than stone, older than memory—beneath the sanctuary, beneath the roots of Moonstone's sacred land, where blood oaths had once been carved into bone and magic slept beneath runes long forgotten.
Aria stood at the center of the ritual circle, her heart a frantic drumbeat against her ribs. The runes beneath her bare feet pulsed faintly with spirit-fire, drawn not from spellbooks or scrolls—but from within. From her.
Beside her, Elena lay still atop a stone altar carved from moonstone, her dark hair spread like ink across the pale surface. The black veins that had crept across her skin now throbbed with eerie light, the symbol on her back—a coiled spiral of shadow and ash—glowing with malicious intent. Mara's brand.
Solene stood at the edge of the circle, robes fluttering, hands raised, her voice steady as she chanted the invocation. "Blood of moon, blood of thorn, sever what was never sworn…"
