I rose– my hands fumbled, searching for something solid, some point of reference, but the world offered none. The pulse beneath my ribs was steady now, insistent, tethered not just to me, but to him, to life itself. Caelan. His essence reached across the void, faint, ragged, but there. Waiting, struggling. I felt him not in flesh, not in breath, but in the heartbeat of the Moon itself. He was alive—but trapped, testing, enduring. And I could not reach him yet. The silver veins beneath my skin flared brighter, tracing themselves like rivers over my arms, my chest, my throat. I felt the Moon in every pulse, every breath, every thought. I had anchored my Sovereignty. I understood now what my mother had meant. I understood that to act without this—without composure, without focus, without grasping the fullness of what had awakened in me—was to invite ruin. The Moon did not distinguish between foe or friend, predator or prey. It obeyed authority, discipline, and presence. I closed my
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