Dawn did not come gently.
It arrived like a blade splitting the horizon, shards of gold scattering across the Frostweald's frozen boughs. The cold bit harder than the night before; thin frost clung to Aria's lashes when she blinked awake. For a moment she forgot where she was — only the weight of Ronan's arm around her told her she was not back in her old world of too-cold apartments and too-heavy memories.
The stranger was already awake, crouched near the dying fire, drawing patterns in the snow with the tip of his staff. His breath fogged in the air, rising like ghostly threads. Ronan stirred behind her, a low rumble in his chest — neither a sound of warning nor one of peace.
Aria pushed herself upright. "You didn't sleep."
"I slept enough," Ronan muttered, giving her shoulder a squeeze before he pulled away. "I have things on my mind."
"You always have things on your mind."
"And most of them involve keeping you alive." He smirked a little. It softened the hunger in his eyes — not hunger for her, but for victory, for survival, for the promise of a future where the Devourer was nothing more than an old nightmare.
The stranger rose when he sensed her awake. "We must move soon. The path shifts with the wind, and if we lose the markers we'll end up circling into the lower ravines."
Ronan frowned. "Those ravines are crawling with shadowlings."
"Yes," the stranger said simply. "And they grow bolder when the sun is bright."
Aria rubbed warmth back into her fingers. "I thought the Devourer hated light."
"It hates direct moonlight," the stranger corrected. "Sunlight merely irritates it. But it feeds the lesser shades — the ones born from fractured fear, not ancient hunger."
Ronan cursed under his breath. "We travel fast, then. And quiet."
They packed quickly. Aria wrapped her cloak tightly enough that the glow beneath her skin was dimmed. If she concentrated, she could keep the light low, murmuring beneath her ribcage. It felt like holding her breath for far too long — not painful, but unnatural.
They moved through the trees, frost crunching softly beneath their boots. Wind sang against the branches. The world smelled sharp and old, as if the mountain itself remembered something before all of them.
The stranger guided them along a narrow ridge trail. Runes carved into stones jutted from the snow — old, worn, nearly devoured by ice.
Aria paused at one, brushing the frost away with careful fingers.
A symbol glowed faintly beneath her touch.
Ronan stiffened. "What did you do?"
"I… nothing?" Aria stepped back, but the rune pulsed again, as if whispering her name.
The stranger inhaled sharply. "It recognizes her."
Ronan bristled. "From what?"
"From the bond she carries." The stranger lifted his staff and angled it toward the rune. "The Moonborn carved these markers to respond to those with purity of power. They respond to inheritance. And to danger."
Aria frowned. "Purity? I don't feel pure. I feel… complicated."
The stranger almost smiled. "Purity is not perfection. Purity is clarity. Your light knows what it wants. That is enough."
The rune brightened again — then a second rune lit several steps ahead, then another, igniting like falling stars leading into the forest's heart.
"It's a path," Aria whispered.
Ronan stepped in front of her sharply. "Or it's a trap."
"It is neither," the stranger said. "It is a summons."
Ronan's expression hardened instantly. "From who?"
"The First Luna," the stranger replied quietly. "Or at least… what remains of her will."
Aria felt a jolt — like something inside her spine aligning.
"The First Luna is dead."
"Bodies die," the stranger said. "Wills remain. Echoes remain. Especially echoes tied to moonlight."
Ronan exhaled slowly, anger flickering beneath his control. "I don't like this."
"Neither do I," Aria admitted softly. "But we don't have many advantages."
Ronan closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, resolve had replaced the turmoil.
"Fine," he said tightly. "We follow it. But I stay in front."
They walked where the runes lit, deeper into the freezing forest. Shadows shifted at the corners of vision — watching, testing, hungry. Ronan's hand never left the hilt of his blade. The stranger occasionally murmured a protective chant, weaving faint blue threads around them.
Aria followed the runes as if listening for a heartbeat.
Because she could feel one.
Faint.
Calling.
Pulling.
They came upon a clearing ringed with tall, ice-laden trees. In the center stood a stone arch, cracked and nearly swallowed by roots. Snow blanketed its curve. Moon symbols etched across its frame glowed dimly in recognition of Aria's presence.
A soft, cold whisper rose like wind through a flute:
"Child of light… step forward."
Aria froze. "Did you hear—?"
"Yes," Ronan snapped, pulling her back protectively. "We heard. And we're not stepping forward into anything."
But the arch pulsed, runes flashing gently. The whisper came again, clearer:
"Show me what you carry."
The stranger's eyes widened. "It wants to test her."
"Test?" Ronan snarled. "She nearly died yesterday—"
"And if she does not pass this," the stranger said, "the Luna's Cradle will not open to her."
Aria touched Ronan's wrist lightly. "Let me try."
"No." His voice was low, dangerous. "You don't walk into strange magic alone."
"I won't be alone." She stepped closer, not pulling away his hand but asking him with her eyes to trust her. "You're here. I'll feel you through the bond."
He swallowed hard. "Aria…"
"We don't win by hiding," she whispered. "We win by being worthy of the power we're trying to use."
Something in her tone — steady, quiet, resolute — shifted Ronan's anger into something like reluctant awe. He lowered his hand slowly, though he stayed one step behind her.
Aria approached the arch.
Cold brushed her face. Light gathered around her like silver breath.
When she touched the stone, the world disappeared.
⸻
She stood in darkness.
Not the Devourer's darkness — that one was teeth and hunger and old nightmares.
This darkness was soft, velvety. A cradle.
A shape formed in front of her — a woman made of moonlight, features gentle and ancient.
The First Luna.
Her voice was everywhere.
"You carry a wound that is not yours… yet it shaped you."
Aria felt her breath catch. She saw flashes from her childhood — her mother leaving; the memory was sharper than usual, almost too sharp to bear.
"Why show me this?" Aria whispered.
"Because you think your power is danger. You think it hurts because you are broken. But the wound is not your flaw… it is your door."
Aria closed her eyes. "I don't understand."
"Then let me show you."
Light exploded gently around her, and she saw herself — younger, terrified, alone — standing in the snow. She saw how light answered her pain even then, flickering in her palms. She saw how every heartbreak had shaped the path to this moment.
"What you call weakness," the Luna said, "is the place where the light entered you. The Devourer hunts the wound. But the wound is where your strength sleeps."
A tear slipped down Aria's cheek. "So what do I do?"
"You open the door. Fully."
Aria's heart slammed against her ribs. "That will kill me."
"Not if your bond anchors you."
Ronan.
Her breath steadied.
"What must I do?"
The First Luna lifted a hand of pure light. A shard formed — glowing silver, humming softly.
"Take this. It is not a weapon, but a memory. It will unlock the mirror slabs when the time comes."
Aria reached forward. The shard slid into her palm, warm and alive.
"And remember, child of light…" the Luna whispered, her figure beginning to fade, "…strength is not the absence of fear. Strength is choosing your light even when the darkness knows your name."
The world burst into silver.
⸻
Aria gasped as she stumbled back into the clearing, Ronan grabbing her before she fell.
"Aria!" His voice cracked with relief and fear. "What happened? Talk to me."
She opened her hand.
The shard glowed fiercely, runes swirling inside it like captured moonlight.
Ronan stared at it — then at her.
"You passed," he breathed.
"I think," Aria whispered, feeling something new settle inside her bones, "I understand my power now in a way I didn't before."
The stranger bowed deeply. "The First Luna has accepted her. The path to Luna's Cradle will open for you now."
A tremor rippled through the ground — distant, warning.
Ronan stiffened. "The Devourer felt that."
"Yes," the stranger said grimly. "It knows she carries something now. Something it fears."
Aria closed her fist around the shard.
"Let it come," she said softly. "Next time, I won't run."
Ronan looked at her with a mixture of pride and terror — because he knew she meant every word.
And because he knew the war had truly begun.