The Lunar Legacy
You’re their star, Lila—draw, hold, rise.
Elder Cora sat by the packhouse door, silver braids loose, cloak draped over her shoulders, obsidian amulet clutched, its crescent moon pulsing faintly, a warning hum under her trembling fingers. Her lined face was pale, gray eyes clouded, visions of iron claws and Veyra’s grief flickering, her strength ebbing. Mist, her wolf, whispered, ethereal, faint, tail curling. They’re yours, my heart—guide, warn, fade.
Bab Populer