Beneath the Howling Pines
At the base of a tree split down the center like a lightning strike, half-buried in dirt and moss, was a shard of metal.
I knelt, brushing it clean. It wasn’t natural—it was carved. A crescent moon surrounded by jagged lines, the symbol of the moon goddess twisted into something darker. Corrupted.
My fingers tingled as I touched it. Pain flared in my palm—a vision slamming into me like cold water:
—Two wolves, black and silver, standing across from each other, snarling, blood dripping from their muzzles.
—A circle of fire.
—A girl with my face screaming as she held something glowing in her hands—something bright and dying.
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