KAEL – POV
The air trembled before I entered the glade. A low hum rang in the bones of the forest—notes of ancient power. Then I smelled it: moonfire and old ash, black pine and lingering embers, and a scent I recognized instantly… but only a shadow of what it once was. Ayla.
But she was different now. Her scent was no longer hidden. It blazed, dominant and distilled—the power to claim, sting, burn. I moved forward, pushing aside the final deadwood fence of the grove—and froze.
There she stood: framed by the glowing ash tree, silver vines of ash runes etched into the earth like a crown around her bare feet. But the true sigils were on her arms and throat, glowing faintly with the aftertaste of power; I saw them in flashes—celestial lines woven into flesh. Her eyes caught mine, molten like melted silver, radiating nothing but quiet judgment. Below us, the ground smoked lightly—she'd slain something here, something untouched by scent or mortality. She had faced it alone.
