Ashbound Moon
It wanted to fall into place.
I forced my breath steady, the way my mother taught me, the way you steady your hands before stitching a wound.
Then I spoke the only words that had ever worked.
“ASH.”
Black cinders rose off the floor, spiraling around the circle. The runes flared, resisting, but the ash didn’t care. It tightened, thickened, becoming a wall—around Dax’s ankles, around the etched lines, smothering the glow.
For one heartbeat, the pull on him eased.
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