The storm hadn't stopped for three days.
Lightning tore the clouds open like jagged scars, washing the cliffs of the Cinder Mountains in a relentless blaze of light. Wind howled through the narrow passes, carrying sand, dust, and the ghostly echo of the fire that once consumed the old world.
Isla stood at the mouth of the temple ruins, cloak snapping around her like the wings of a bird too stubborn to die. The air reeked of ash and magic. Beneath her boots, the earth was hot, still breathing as though something ancient slept just beneath.
Luca stood behind her, torchlight flickering across his face. "We shouldn't be here after dark. The ground isn't stable."
She didn't look back. "It never is, where power sleeps."
He frowned but didn't argue. He knew better now. Ever since the night the ring had awakened again, Isla had been moving with a purpose too sharp to challenge.
