บททั้งหมดของ YOU BELONG TO ME,MY LOST LUNA : บทที่ 81 - บทที่ 90

WHISPERS IN THE WIND Bianca’s POVI sensed the change long before it showed in clear form. The air around our Hall shifted not just temperature, but texture. The wolves grew restless; even the stones felt worn with something approaching dread. I stood on the edge of the courtyard, wind gusting through my cloak, ears tuned to the murmurs of the wind and the low groans of the world outside our circle.My name is Bianca. I’m not the blade‑bearer. I’m not the mark‑carrier. I’m the one who watches. The one who listens. In the four of them Serena, Azelia, Kale, Bianca they are the heart of the storm. I am its pulse behind the beat. And today I felt that pulse quicken.The twin‑crescent blade leaned against the wall of the Hall, its gleam subdued in the morning mist. I reached out and touched its guard. A warmth glowed in reply not magic, but memory. I closed my eyes and felt the echoes: the Hollow Root, the vault, the breach, the seal, the war‑cries, the wolf‑howls. It had moved off the ba

FORGING THE STORMLINEBianca’s POVThe dawn crept through narrow windows of the war‑hall, pale light illuminating scrolls, runes, and the twin‑crescent blade resting atop the central dais. I walked into the chamber, boots echoing faintly on the stone floor, cloak drawn tight. The air smelled of ash and fresh ink, the scent of rebuilding as much as battle.Around me, the warriors and ward‑mages stirred. That old fear, the one that haunted the valley since the First Fall, had shifted. It had not vanished, but it no longer held dominion.Serena turned from the blade, her face serious yet resolute. “Today we forge our line,” she said. “Not merely between us, but across the land.” I nodded, stepping forward with maps in my hand. “The stormline expands. It touches every ridge, river, and ruin we claimed.”Azelia and Bianca joined us. Azelia held a staff etched with fresh runes; Bianca carried a lantern glowing with moon‑silver light. The four of us formed the center of the forging.I laid

SHADOW LINES AT THE WATER’S EDGE Bianca’s POVThe river bent like a wounded serpent beneath the moon‑light, its surface black and shimmering in the shadows. I dismounted and crouched at the bank, the cold water lapping thin ripples against my boots. In one hand I held the vial Kala had given me: as dark as soot, mixed with rune‑shards that still glowed faint violets. In the other… nothing. I waited.The wolves behind us padded silently, their breaths misting in the night. Guards formed a perimeter. The twin‑crescent banner fluttered on a nearby oaken post, runes carved fresh and glowing shimmering gold‑violet. The stormline we had drawn extended to this bend. And here… the enemy drew their map.I knelt beside the water and dropped the vial’s contents. The runes dispersed like motes of light, swirling in the black currents before drifting to the bank. I watched them settle among wet stones and roots.“They’ll return,” I said quietly.Azelia looked up from her charts. “I’ll calibrate th

THE FORGING OF SIGNATURESBianca’s POVThe carving lasted long into the night, torch‑flames dancing around us, throwing wavering shadows across the broken grove. My chisel struck a stone. Each tap a declaring note. The twin‑crescent I etched was sharp and deep two arcs joined, carving our mark into a place that had once borne only ashes and doubt. Warriors stood guard. Wolves crouched in low stances. The air held that silent tension waiting for the question to be answered.Kale stood beside me. “It’s done,” I said at last, stepping back to survey our work.He nodded. “It’s our signature. They’ll know we were here.”“Good,” I replied, though inside I felt the weight of what came next.The grove was quiet now. The scent of charred bark still clung, but new life pushed through the ash. Beneath my boots I felt stirrings, roots shifting, stone settling, the stormline humming faintly. It was more than a symbol now. It was a signal. It was claimed.Night deepened around us. We left the grove

THE ECHO OF CLAIMBianca’s POVThe moon hovered full and bright, casting pale light across the high ridge. I stood at the edge of the last node we’d activated only hours earlier…the beacon rod still glowing faint gold‑violet in the stone. Below me, the valley stretched out like a map come alive: ridges carved with rune‑lines, rivers shimmering with ward‑light, nodes pulsing with our claim.The howl rose again, deeper this time. A wolf’s voice, but bigger echoing off cliffs, resounding through the trees, vibrating through the stone beneath my boots. I raised my blade, twin‑crescent hilt catching moon‑glow. The stormline we engineered answered.Beside me, Kale fixed his gaze on the treeline. “They heard us.”“Yes,” I whispered. “And we heard them.”We didn’t move from our post. We didn’t chase. We guarded. The distinction mattered. The stormline wasn’t about hunting shadows…it was about setting our hold so deep that darkness entered on our terms.A soft crack of stone behind us reminded