LOGINThe name sounded pretty.It wasn’t.***“Sanctum Meridian,” Soryn said, rolling the words like something she’d rather spit. “High Howl calls it a “neutral evaluation facility.” It is not neutral. And it was never built for “safety.””Elowen sat at the small table in her “protective wing” room, an ankle band humming faintly. The comm rune on the wall glowed with a weak Lunaris link—voice only, no visuals; it was the best Kieran and Soryn had scraped through tribunal filters.“Tell me,” Elowen said.Soryn’s voice came cool and clear. “Meridian was commissioned after the last bloodline panic. A place to “appraise” dangerous anomalies. They consulted every defector, every frightened House willing to sell old ward patterns, every Tribunal‑friendly witch who wanted to test new toys. The result is a sanctum whose very walls are designed to mute what runs in your veins.”“Neutralize bloodlines,” Kieran added. His voice was rough—tired and angry. “Not just Lunaris. Any lineage they decide “nee
Crowe’s words rolled over Moonfall like oil.“By Tribunal authority, the Lunaris heir is now under state protection.”For a heartbeat, nothing moved.Then the world snapped.***Soryn Eirwen did not shout.She stepped forward to the lip of the dais bowl, lifted her chin, and let the old Lunaris wards carry her voice.“Witnesses of Covenant,” she called. “You have seen a Rite requested, a Rite honored, and a Rite completed. You have also seen High Howl breaches that circle with force, hood our heir on our stone, and drag her away under false name.”Her gaze cut to the observer platform.“This is not “state protection,”” she said, every syllable cold and exact. “It is theft. A war action taken against House Lunaris. We name it so. We will answer it so.”The word *war* dropped heavier than anything Crowe had said.Lunaris wolves straightened.Some Nightmoor wolves went still.On the platform, several judges blanched.“Archmatron,” Judge Ravel snapped, seizing on outrage as a shield again
The hood smelled like old cloth and new ink.And fear.***Elowen’s world snapped to black.Fabric rasped over her hair, sigil‑threads sparking cold against her skin. The hood clung to her mouth and nose, not enough to choke, enough to make every breath a reminder that someone else had decided what she could see.Hands tightened on her arms—one on her right bicep, another clamping hard above her left elbow. A third hand grabbed at the chain at her waist and pulled.Her body lurched.For a heartbeat, the urge to *panic* was huge and total. To thrash, to scream, to blow the circle and everything around it apart.The baby spiked under her palm, a sudden, frantic drumbeat.No.She dragged the instinct back.In on four.Out on six.She couldn’t see.But she could still feel.The Gate’s field was gone now—Rite closed, authority fading—but the old Lunaris stone still hummed somewhere under her boots, even as they left the dais.Her power surged against the hood’s dampening runes like water a
For one suspended heartbeat, Moonfall held its breath.Half the amphitheater was on its knees.***The sight hit the Tribunal like a fist.Crowe’s face went very still.On the observer platform, one of the junior judges yanked at his own collar as if it were suddenly too tight; another made a warding sign he probably hadn’t used since childhood.“Unacceptable,” Harvek hissed, scrambling upright. “Unregulated mass compulsion—”“It was a test,” the sharp‑featured judge said under his breath, but his voice shook. “A *demonstration.*”Ravel’s hand gripped the rail so hard the stone creaked.“She ordered half this court to kneel,” he said, his tone pitched halfway between outrage and something less nameable. “That is not *Claim.* That is *coercion.*”On the dais, Elowen watched them.Their fear tasted familiar.They’d been terrified of her since the first time they saw a code on her file.This was new.Now they had a reason they couldn’t pretend was just theory.Authority.Visible.Real.A
The moonstone breathed under her feet.So did the crowd.***For a moment, nothing moved.Then Gate Three woke.Silver rose from the heart of the dais in a slow, deliberate swell—like mist thickening, like a tide coming in. Elowen felt it gather around her ankles, climb her calves, her thighs, her spine, until her whole body hummed with it.Her aura, which had learned restraint and hush and the careful stillness of survival, did not flatten now.It expanded.Not in a blast.In a controlled, inevitable reach.Around the bowl, the effect was immediate.Wolves weren’t built to ignore Lunaris authority when it focused. Even the ones who hated her, who had called her witch and vessel and threat, were creatures of instinct before they were lawyers.A low murmur ran through the slopes and cut off as bodies stilled.Heads lifted, then dipped an inch without meaning to.Some claws unsheathed and then retracted, as if hands had forgotten what gesture they’d been making.On the observer platform
Moonfall looked peaceful.It was not.***The Moonfall Dais sat in a natural amphitheater where the forest dipped and the stone rose, as if the land itself had tilted its face to the sky long ago and never quite lowered it again. A wide disc of pale moonstone jutted from the slope, its edge rough in places where time and old battles had chipped it. Ancient Lunaris runes circled its rim, faint but still responsive to Soryn’s touch.When Elowen stepped out of the tunnel and saw it for the first time, her breath caught.“It’s beautiful,” she said.“And temperamental,” Mae replied. “Don’t be fooled by the aesthetics. This thing has cracked more heirs than a tribunal dock.”The amphitheater’s natural bowl was already filling.Not just with Lunaris.Wolves from allied and rival packs took up positions along the slopes—Nightmoor loyalists clustered near Daire’s section of the boundary line, their scents familiar even through ward‑smell and tension. Other factions hung back, wanting to watch







