The past's burden pressed down on me like the changing lunar tides. Standing on the destroyed temple steps, watching my people's assembly, I felt the whole weight of the Crescent Bloodline's legacy fall on my shoulders. The battle had moulded us, stripped us naked, and pushed us to rebuild from the ashes. And now, as dawn crested over the battle-scarred land, I knew our fight was far from over.
The Crescent Mark on my arm throbbed, a gentle but constant glow, as if it also understood the weight of this time. It had led me through the bloodshed of innumerable wars, betrayals, and fights. But what it couldn't tell me—what no prophesy could reveal—was whether we would survive the ultimate storm on the horizon.
Luca stood quietly behind me, his presence both anchoring and burdened in its own way. Stepping closer, his golden eyes tired yet keen fixed on me. "Aria," he murmured, his voice rough with exhaustion. "They're waiting for you."
