The night sky churned with restless clouds, their bellies bruised with scarlet light from the embers of the Flameborn crown. Its reawakening hadn't simply stirred the heavens; it had rattled every tether of the bond between Aria and the triplets. She could feel them, like four threads wound too tightly, pulling at her very soul.
Aria stood at the cliff's edge, her hair whipped by the mountain winds, the crown glowing faintly where it rested in the carved obsidian box Tobias had sealed. Behind her, the triplets paced in agitation.
"We can't keep it hidden much longer," Marcus muttered, his voice carrying the clipped edge of command. His broad shoulders tensed as though bracing for battle. "If the Flameborn sensed it awakening, then so did our enemies."
Dorian's eyes gleamed in the half-light, wolf-bright and dangerous. "Let them sense it. Let them come. We'll burn them down before they ever lay a hand on it."
Aria turned slowly, meeting his gaze. "It isn't that simple."
