The battlefield still smoldered with the scent of ash and iron, the air heavy with the aftermath of the war council's failed parley. Aria stood amidst the ruins of what had once been a clearing, her hands trembling though she fought to keep them still. The triplets were at her side—Marcus scanning the horizon, Tobias muttering strategies under his breath, and Dorian's gaze locked on her like she was the only anchor holding him steady.
But nothing about tonight felt steady.
Overhead, the moon hung swollen and fractured, glowing with an eerie crimson light. It wasn't the natural Blood Moon they had prepared for—it was worse. The Flameborn Crown's awakening had stirred something cosmic, and the celestial sphere itself seemed to mirror the cracks spreading through their world.
"Aria," Marcus said, his voice a sharp edge cutting through the silence. "Your power is pulsing again. You're going to tear yourself apart if you don't steady it."
