Moonlit Secrets
She was Flameheart, called and claimed.
Inside, the vault felt eternal. Rows of shelves sagged with scrolls, tablets, and tomes. The air smelled of ink, ash, and something older—the lingering presence of every wolf who had come seeking solace, truth, or belonging. At the chamber’s center burned the everflame, steady and golden, a fire that had never gone out since the founding of Moonrise.
Elder Myra waited beside it, shoulders stooped but eyes keen. A great book lay open before her on a stone pedestal, its leather scarred with centuries of touch. She regarded Aria with tenderness, though her voice trembled with exhaustion.
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