The night was no longer still.
It breathed.
It pulsed in rhythm with Kael's heartbeat, every beat echoing through the ruins of the forest like the slow drum of something ancient awakening. The moon hung fractured above him, spilling ghostlight through the torn canopy. Ash drifted on the wind like black snow. And there—somewhere between shadow and memory—came the sound again.
A howl.
Low. Hollow. Familiar.
"Lyria…"
Her name left his lips as both prayer and curse. The mark on his chest seared, alive, as if the bond itself strained toward her presence. He moved through the ruin, each step crunching on bones and burned leaves, his senses sharpening until every sound screamed too loud, every scent too sharp.
Then he saw her.
At first, she was nothing more than a silhouette in the fog—hair wild, silver under moonlight, eyes glowing faintly where the shadows kissed her skin. But when she turned, the world stopped.
