The evening was silent, too quiet—an unsettling silence like the calm before a storm. On the pinnacle of a battered battlement, I stood by myself as the cold breeze tugged at my black hair, aroma of rain and ancient dirt carried along. For so long, I had borne the weight of our legacy: the Crescent Bloodline, a name forged in sacrifice and treachery, a destiny that promised both glory and unfathomable agony. After many conflicts, grief, and the sour taste of betrayal, I had reached a moment where I could not flee from my history. I would get it tonight. Tonight, I would claim my redemption.
At my wrist, my Crescent Mark pulsed gently—a live reminder of every decision I had taken, and every sacrifice destiny had asked. I closed my eyes and allowed the memories to flood over me. We dared to challenge the darkness; therefore, I recalled the shouts and turmoil of battle, the frantic howls of my pack when hope seemed gone, and the many faces of those who had perished.
