The White Wolf Luna
Agnes’s song roared, its melody a chorus of every world, every choice, every life they’d touched.
The star above faltered, its cold light softening, and the whisper broke, its scream fading into silence. The figures dissolved, their pain woven into the world, their voices now part of its song. The horizon flared, its golden light brighter, stronger, as the stone circle steadied, its symbols glowing with a new pattern one of unity, of choice, of making.
The Covenant stepped back, its form fading into starlight. “You have chosen,” it said, its voice soft but heavy. “But the Night is not bound. It will come, and it will demand.”
Sikat na Kabanata