The eastern ridge had been cleared of weapons and command flags. It was bare earth and sacred stone.
Thousands circled in silence, awaiting her.
Athena stepped into the center, Lucas and Cassius flanking her. Together, the three knelt. She pressed her palm to the earth. Lucas and Cassius followed.
The wind stilled.
The flames dimmed.
And then the moon pulsed.
Light poured from above—liquid and silver, not casting shadows but absorbing them. It bled down into her skin and spread outward, dancing across the connected marks on the three of them. The divine runes on Athena's chest. The bite-bond marks on their necks.
The magic that lived not just in their bodies—but between them.
She opened her mouth, not to speak, but to sing.
The howl rose like a prayer.
Low. Raw. Beautiful. Ageless.
Cassius followed, his voice deeper, earthier, steadying.
Lucas lifted last, clear and sharp like a blade through the trees.
