Long before wolves ruled the territories, long before the high bloodlines carved lines through the mountains and forests, there had been something else here. The ruins of a world where shadow fed off the forgotten. And it was into that world Magnolia now walked.
Stone arched overhead, slick with dripping moisture and the weight of hundreds of years. The walls were carved with symbols even Elara hadn't seen in her books. Some looked like teeth. Others like wounds.
And deeper in the dark, something pulsed.
She felt it in her bones.
In her blood.
In the branded flesh of her palm, where the serpent-flame sigil burned faint and steady like a second heartbeat.
Rhett walked beside her, sword drawn. Beckett flanked the rear, watching their backs, his fingers twitching against the hilt of his daggers.
Celeste had stayed behind at the estate, tasked with reinforcing the outer wards. But Magnolia had seen it in her eyes before they left fear. Not of death.
Of failure.
