Echoes of Moonfire
She reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
That night, I assembled them—ten of the fiercest blades I knew. Reynold, my second-in-command. Jareth, who once slew a wyvern with his bare hands. Lena of the Iron Fangs. Calder, Thorne, Vess, Mila, Rom. Every one of them loyal, battle-hardened, bound by oath.
We rode in silence under the twin moons, our cloaks billowing behind us, the scent of pine and frost thick in the air. The village of Ravenspire was small—stone cottages roofed with straw, fences laced with garlic and glyphs.
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