The moon did not rise gently that night.
It climbed into the sky like a wound, glowing deep red. Winds screamed through the streets of Aeloria, knocking doors and rattling windows. Old women cried. Children hid.
Elara felt it before anyone spoke.
Her chest burned, not with fear, but with something waking up.
She stood on the palace tower, her dark hair flying wildly. She pressed her hand to her heart, confused. She had lived her whole life without magic—yet the Red Moon seemed to know her.
Far away, deep under the earth, ancient chains cracked.
Something had begun.