Semua Bab Marked by the enemy alpha: Bab 31 - Bab 40

The Emberlands were unlike anything Aria had ever seen. Gone were the frozen peaks and howling winds of the north. Here, fire ruled. The air shimmered with heat rising from cracked, scorched earth. The sun hung heavy and low, casting a copper sheen over the land. Smoke twisted on the horizon, the byproduct of ancient, ever-burning volcanic veins that laced the territory. Aria stood at the edge of the great Flame Basin, her cloak stripped back to the bare essentials. She had traded furs for leathers suited to the inferno. At her side, Kael wiped the sweat from his brow. His usually calm expression was frayed at the edges, the heat testing his limits. Behind them rode a force like none the Emberlands had seen in generations — the Iceborn. Mounted on frost-riven beasts, clad in armor enchanted to resist heat, the warriors of the north pressed south with single-minded purpose. Their presence created a stark contrast against the terrain like winter forcing its way into summer. Lyselle

The air in the Whispering Vale was heavy with the song—though no one sang. The wind rustled the leaves in a strange cadence, a melody of sorrow and remembrance that slipped beneath Aria’s skin and stirred something ancient in her bones. Her wolf stirred uneasily within, ears pinned back, hackles half-raised. Not in fear—but in awe. Reverence. “Do you feel that?” she whispered, her voice caught between breath and wind. Lyselle nodded slowly, her white braid lifting slightly in the current. “This place is alive with memory. The Vale keeps all that has been lost.” Kael looked around warily, his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword. “Does it keep it safe... or use it?” Ressa’s eyes glowed like embers in the dim green light. “Some say the Vale remembers everything. Even things the Moon wished to forget.” They passed into a wide clearing where the moss glowed faintly underfoot, lighting their path with the shimmer of moonlight trapped in time. Great stone pillars rose around them—

The sun rose dimly over the Ashlands, casting long, broken shadows across the scorched ruins of Iskar. Though daylight touched the earth, the ash in the air made it seem as if the world still dreamed — a half-light, suspended in time. Aria stood atop one of the remaining towers, the ancient wind tugging at her cloak, her eyes closed as she breathed in the lingering heat of the land’s memory. Thalen — the Voice of Ash — stood behind her, silent, his form like a monument of flame frozen in thought. “I saw everything,” she murmured. “What they did to you… what they feared.” Thalen’s voice was low, barely louder than the wind. “I do not blame them anymore. Fear is a shadow cast by ignorance. And in their fear, they tried to control the fire that refused to forget.” Aria turned to face him. “But now you remember.” “I always did,” Thalen replied. “That is both my burden and my gift. Fire does not forget. It records every scar, every scream, every vow broken. I was the keeper of truth…

Morning came dressed in violet and silver, casting long shadows over the frozen valley where six Voices now stood united. The snow, once untouched and solemn, now bore the footsteps of fate—twelve impressions from six who carried the weight of the Moon’s memory. Aria stirred from her light sleep, the crystal clenched in her hand like a heartbeat of ancient power. Each night it glowed brighter, pulsing in tune with her breath, synchronizing more with her soul than her senses. Valeska was already awake, standing at the valley’s edge. The Voice of Winter stood unmoving, arms folded, her breath rising in pale wisps. She hadn’t spoken since the fusion, since sharing her memory with Aria. But her presence was resolute, like a blade frozen in a moment of eternal snowfall. “She hasn’t slept,” Ressa murmured beside Aria. “I don’t think she needs to.” Aria nodded quietly and rose, shaking off the cold. “She carries the storm within her. Sleep would only slow her down.” Kael joined them, sh

The first rays of dawn filtered weakly through the torn curtains of the old watchtower, casting golden streaks across the cold stone floor. Aria stood at the narrow window, arms crossed, her gaze focused on the distant treetops where the mist was just beginning to lift. Her wolf stirred restlessly beneath her skin, sensing what she had already accepted—there was no turning back now. The events of the past few days swirled in her mind like storm clouds. Vorran’s fall. The encounter with the ash-cloaked messenger. The name “Sereth” echoed in her thoughts like a ghost. It was all connected. Somehow, the Thirteenth’s rise, the Voices’ disappearance, and her own unexplainable bond with Kael wove into a single thread she had yet to unravel. Behind her, the others stirred from their uneasy sleep. The group had taken shelter in the forgotten outpost after the figure of stone had disintegrated at their feet. Aria hadn't slept. Not because she couldn’t—but because the silence whispered to her