The sea was not meant to be still.But as Elira's ship neared the Isles of Mourning, the water beneath the hull grew unnaturally calm—so smooth it reflected the clouds like a blackened mirror. Not a single gull flew overhead. Not a single wave dared rise.Only silence and the heavy scent of salt and sorrow.She stood at the bow of the vessel, her hair pulled back in braids woven with moonthread, the Starlight Crown and the Glass Pendant of Truth both tucked beneath her hooded cloak. Beside her stood the Crimson Mage, who had grown unusually quiet since they set sail.“They say this sea remembers,” Elira said softly.The mage nodded. “It does. Every betrayal, every death. It’s all down there, still screaming.”Behind them, the Veilguard prepared in grim silence. Mara was sharpening her silver-bladed daggers; Ruvan checked the enchanted spears; Isolde warded the ship with runes older than empire. Lucien hadn’t come this time—not because he feared the sea, but because Elira needed him at
The return to the Lycan capital should have felt like victory.Two relics recovered. The Veilguard stronger than ever. Elira more sure of her power than she had ever been.But the moment she passed through the fortress gates, she felt it—like a sliver of ice driven straight into her gut.Something was wrong.Lucien noticed it too. His jaw was tight, eyes scanning the courtyard as soldiers bowed low and court officials greeted them with stiff smiles. It was too quiet. Too polished. Like a staged performance.And above all—too careful.“Elira,” Mara murmured beside her, “they knew we were returning today. But the wards weren’t reinforced. The royal sentries weren’t doubled. Protocols were skipped.”Ruvan nodded grimly. “Someone wanted us exposed.”Elira gripped the Glass Pendant of Truth, now worn around her neck on a silver chain. It hummed softly against her skin, warning her of deception nearby.They had been away for less than two weeks.But something had slithered into her court wh
The wind over the ruins of Eilenthal carried the scent of ash and old sorrow.Once, it had been a beacon of light in the east—jewel of the Moon Court’s mortal alliance, a city where shifters, witches, and fae gathered under the banner of peace. But it had fallen long ago, devoured in one night of fire and betrayal.Now, it stood in silence.Jagged towers, half-collapsed, reached like broken fingers toward the storm-heavy sky. The streets were buried beneath layers of soot and vine-choked stone. There were no birds, no beasts. Only the memory of screams etched into the stones.Elira stood at the city’s edge with her cloak billowing behind her, the Starlight Crown glinting dimly upon her brow. The Crescent Mark on her chest pulsed, sensing something old, something familiar.“It remembers,” she murmured.Lucien stood beside her. “This place?”“No,” she said. “I do.”Behind them, the Veilguard prepared camp. Mara set up sentry wards. Ruvan checked the perimeter. The Crimson Mage muttered
Snow drifted lazily over the high spires of the Lycan fortress as Elira stood at the topmost balcony, her eyes fixed on the horizon where night met morning. The crescent mark still glowed faintly over her heart, pulsing in rhythm with her breath—a reminder of what she had become.Or rather, what she had always been.A shard of the Moon Goddess herself.She hadn’t told anyone yet. Not even Lucien. Not the full truth.Not that she wasn’t just chosen—but reborn. An echo of a goddess who once wept over a dying sky and cursed herself into mortal flesh to save it.And now that sky was bleeding again.“Elira,” Lucien’s voice came softly from behind.She didn’t turn. “He’s moving.”“Yes,” he confirmed. “Our scouts have seen the signs. Shadow beasts in the north. Feral wolves going mad in the lowlands. The Hollow God is gathering his army.”“And we are not ready.”Lucien stepped beside her, jaw clenched. “We have the Veilguard. The Daughters of Dusk. The capital stands united behind us.”Elira
The last light of dawn vanished the moment Elira crossed into the Ashen Hollow.There was no sunrise here—no wind, no sound, no sky.Just the weight of silence pressed against the earth like a held breath.She stood at the edge of the veil with her traveling companions: Mara at her left, ever-watchful; the Crimson Mage cloaked in blood-red robes at her right; and two warriors from the Veilguard behind her—Ruvan and Isolde, both hand-picked for their loyalty and fearlessness.Ahead, the path dipped into a chasm carved by time and forgotten by gods. According to the Daughters of Dusk, somewhere at the heart of this dead land stood a ruin from the first age of moonlight—a temple dedicated not to the Moon Goddess, but to the thing that once tried to unmake her.The Hollow God’s first sanctuary.Or, perhaps, his birthplace.No records of it remained in Lycan history.Only warnings.“You’re certain it’s here?” Ruvan asked, his voice tight.Elira nodded. “The shard glows stronger the closer
The council chamber fell into silence after Elira’s declaration.Outside, winter winds clawed at the high stone windows, but inside, the air was thicker than frost. Elira’s hand rested on the black shard of prophecy at the center of the war table, its faint glow casting eerie reflections on the polished wood.Lucien had not spoken since they returned from Hearthglen.He hadn’t spoken much to her at all.The attack had left a scar not only on the land, but on him.“I propose,” Elira said steadily, “the formation of a covert alliance—one that spans beyond our packs and borders. We need allies who understand magic, corruption, and ancient forces. Not just warriors. Seers. Healers. Guardians of the old ways.”Toren, the Ironclaw Alpha, scoffed. “You’re suggesting we unite with witches and forest spirits? What next? Summon the gods for tea?”Elira didn’t flinch. “We already invited them when I wore the crown.”Mara stepped forward, voice firm. “We’ve all seen what she faced. If we keep pre