The night was split open by thunder. Lightning clawed across the sky, its jagged light washing over the battlefield where darkness waited like a living beast. Aria stood at the crest of the hill, the triplets flanking her like shadows made flesh, their presence grounding her against the chaos pressing at the edges of her mind.
Below them, the valley churned with the advance of the Hollow Fang and their allies. Torches burned like malevolent stars in the distance, a river of fire and steel spilling toward their position. The Flameborn crown at her brow pulsed, its molten glow searing through the fog of fear. It was alive, hungry, and it recognized the approach of war.
"Once we step down into that valley," Marcus murmured, his voice taut with restrained fury, "there's no going back."
Aria clenched her fists. "There never was going back. This ends tonight."
