AYLA – POV
The tremor beneath my boots was no aftershock—it was a wake-up call. A slow, deliberate pulse that grew stronger, deeper, as if the core of the valley itself had drawn breath.
I looked at Kael. His face was ghost-white, eyes dark pools reflecting moonlight and fear. He released my hand, stepping back slightly. I closed my eyes, listening. The First Luna's voice murmured in my veins—a breath of promise, of reckoning.
Below, the temple floor cracked. Splintering lines of silvery ash webbed outward from the shattered shard. The moss died in silent seconds, dust rising like ghosts surrendering to air.
Kael grabbed my shoulder. My skin felt alight, as if the ruins had branded us both.
"Did you feel that?" he whispered.
I nodded, throat raw. More than felt. I heard the waking of something old. Something bound long ago in blood and moonlight.
A low roar rolled from the crypt below. A rumble of chains snapping.
