The wind was restless over the Moonstone cliffs, carrying whispers of a storm not yet seen but deeply felt. The forest had gone quiet since Umbrafang's fall. The Circle tended to the wounded, reinforced the protective wards, and tried to find calm in the fragile peace. But Aria couldn't rest. Not with her spirit flickering. Not with Mara's words still coiled in her mind like a serpent: "You will choose. And everything will burn."
She stood alone near the broken eastern arch, overlooking the valley drenched in fading moonlight. Her wolf was pacing again, restless. Caleb had asked her to rest, but she couldn't. Her thoughts were torn in too many directions—Elena's bond to Mara, the prophecy Solene barely dared speak aloud, and the painful truth that her power was becoming dangerously unstable.
The air shifted.
She turned sharply.
And saw him.
Rowan staggered into view from the treeline, bloodied, bruised, and barely standing.
