Semua Bab Moonlit Secrets: Bab 131 - Bab 140

The unity fire burned high, its light painting every face in gold. Songs curled upward into the night like smoke, and stories—some whispered, some roared—wove between the flames. For a brief, golden stretch of hours, Moonrise belonged wholly to hope.Children laughed, old rivals shared food, and even the Watchers stood without the shadow of urgency at their shoulders. Aria stayed close to Xander, their daughter darting in and out of the torchlight, the silver of her runes flashing whenever she spun.But as the moon climbed higher, swelling into its blood-red zenith, the night began to change.It started as a whisper in the earth—a faint tremor that brushed through the roots of the ancient oaks, rattling the silver leaves overhead. Old wolves went still, their ears twitching toward a sound no one else could yet hear.The Watchers felt it next. Every masked head turned north, toward the jagged line of mountains where the shadows pooled thicker than they should.Aria felt it last, but de

Dawn came raw and unsettled, painting the valley in pale gold that could not warm the ache left by the first clash. Across Moonrise, warriors limped between tents, mending armor, tending wounds, and trading quiet stories over blood-streaked grass. The unity circle still held—barely—but everyone felt the shift. Every scar carried the echo of what had been unleashed on the Ridge of the Silver Line.For Xander, victory tasted of iron.He stood at the edge of camp, watching Aria by the embers, their daughter curled against her. The night had made them heroes, but the weight of it showed in every careful touch Aria gave, every too-long glance toward the horizon. His own hands trembled—not from exhaustion, but from a debt he had carried like a stone in his chest for years. A debt he had never dared to name.A Summons to the PastThe Watchers’ call to council came with the rising sun. Leaders of every clan, the Marked, and the elders gathered under banners so old they still smelled faintly o

The air outside the spirit cave still shimmered with the heat of Aria’s rebirth. The Marked followed in silence, their faces lit by the strange, living glow that now clung to her like a second skin. The eclipse overhead was fractured, the blood moon’s light bleeding into streaks of gold where it touched her. Every step she took left the scent of fire in the air and the hum of unity magic in the ground beneath them.But even as the valley seemed to exhale in relief, the wind shifted—carrying with it a taste of iron, the sour bite of curse magic. Xander’s head lifted, his hand tightening around Aria’s, but she stopped him before he could speak. Her eyes turned toward the east, narrowing. “It’s not over.”The warning came too late for the quiet. From the trees below Moonrise, shadows broke free—men and women masked in darkness, weapons gleaming. They poured toward the valley in disciplined lines, their leader’s voice carrying cold and sure over the distance.High on the sacred hill, the

Dawn arrived muted and grey, the kind of light that seemed unsure if it belonged to day or night. The fire Aria had kindled—bought at the cost of her life-force—still burned, but inside her, a quiet hollow ached, cold where warmth had once lived. She carried it silently, letting no one see the price she had paid. The Marked believed she had bought them a day, and for their sake, that belief remained untouched.The unity circle shimmered faintly below, its runes holding steady, but the air in Moonrise was thick with the weight of anticipation. Every movement in the valley was deliberate. Warriors sharpened weapons until they gleamed in the pale light. Healers arranged herbs, bowls, and bindings in neat, ready lines. Elders bent close to the young, speaking low, their words a blend of comfort and warning. The Watchers traced the edges of the land, bone masks pale against the gloom, weaving spells of remembrance and protection. Even the children played quietly, their voices lowered as if

Smoke and screams still split the sky. Beyond the rift, lightning flared blood-red, each flash revealing fleeting tableaux of valor and loss—wolves locked against celestial wraiths, unity runes flickering under the weight of the assault, the air thick with the iron tang of blood and the stubborn pulse of hope.Aria felt it all through a strange distance, as though she moved underwater. Every roar, every howl seemed far away; each heartbeat in her chest was a drumbeat of war. The world spun, yet she clung to the purpose that had carried her this far—protect, defend, heal—even as the cost began to carve itself into her flesh.It happened in the space between breaths. She was rallying the flame legion, fire dancing at her fingertips, when a shadow broke from the chaos—a wraith shaped like a child, its eyes two burning coals, its arms outstretched. Her heart stuttered. For one cruel instant, she saw her daughter’s face in that twisted mask.That hesitation was all the entity needed.The w