Dawn bled across the sky in strokes of crimson and gold, casting Nyxvale in a light that felt both holy and dangerous. The ruined fortress stood proud in its silence, its towers fractured but defiant, catching the first rays like relics of a war-sung age. Below, the sea thrashed with unnatural violence, like it too sensed the wheel of fate turning.
Elara stood alone in the courtyard, her cloak whipping in the morning wind. Her fingers grazed the mark on her forearm---the crescent moon pierced by a dagger. It tingled with something between magic and warning, a constant whisper of the power now coiled within her veins.
She wasn't running anymore.
She was hunting.
Kael approached, adjusting the twin blades strapped across his back. "The Moonbound are ready. They await your word."
"I want to meet them," Elara said, eyes forward. "Not as some symbol. As their leader."
Kael's mouth curved with the hint of a smile. "Then speak to them not like royalty… but like fire."
Inside the Hall of Stormlight---so named for the way the morning sun fractured through its shattered, glassless windows----the Moonbound waited. The air was thick with unspoken tension, and the ancient war chamber felt like it was holding its breath.
Elara entered, her steps sure, boots echoing like a war drum against the stone.
The first to step forward was the white-haired woman with the golden eye. She removed her hood, revealing a face lined with quiet strength and old battles.
"Vaelith Arin," she said. "Former Blade Captain of Aeryn's personal guard. Sworn to protect her bloodline, or die trying."
Elara extended her hand. "Then you'll have to stay alive a while longer. Dying's not part of the plan."
Vaelith grinned, and her grip was like iron.
The youngest among them leaned casually against his staff. Tattoos flickered along his arms, glowing faintly beneath his skin.
"Talon Greaves," he said, smirking. "Spellweaver. Seventeen. Don't let it fool you---I can turn banshee bones to ash from a hundred paces."
"Impressive," Elara said dryly. "Can you go five minutes without bragging?"
He tilted his head, grinning. "Maybe three. Depends on how bored I get."
Next came the antlered man. Thorne. His presence was slow and rooted, like deep earth after rain. Tribal ink coiled across his skin in symbols Elara didn't recognize.
"Thorne," he said, voice deep and calm. "Druid of the Hollow Wilds. I speak to roots, rivers, and to things long forgotten beneath the dirt."
She studied him. "Can you lead us through the cursed lands?"
"The Hollow knows me," he said. "But it doesn't spare liars. Or cowards."
And then----last---the hooded figure stepped forward.
She removed her cowl. A woman. Violet eyes like storm clouds before lightning. Hair dark as ink, and a scar like a blade's whisper across her cheek.
"Nyra Voss," she said. "Assassin. I don't swear oaths. But I don't break promises."
Elara met her gaze and felt something unspoken stir between them.
"Then don't make me a promise," Elara said. "Make me a vow to finish what we've started."
Nyra's lips twitched. "That, I can do."
Selene entered then, like a blade unsheathed. Her eyes swept over the group with sharp approval.
"You have your warband," she said. "Now comes the first test."
Elara straightened.
"You'll pass through the Whispering Dunes. Desert lands cursed by silence. Magic bends there. Maps lie. And the Crimson Covenant has outposts hidden beneath the sand."
Talon muttered under his breath, "Oh good. Sand and death. My favorites."
"You move fast," Selene continued. "Your goal is the edge of the Hollow Wastes. There, among the ruins of Kaemorath, lies the path to Elarion."
Kael frowned. "Kaemorath was swallowed by shadow."
"And the shadows still keep it," Selene said. "But if Elara can awaken the gates, the Heartshard may be within reach."
They left by midday, cloaked in illusion spells to avoid sky-watchers. The Moonbound rode in loose formation, silent but alert. Kael stayed close to Elara's side. The terrain dried with every passing league, the air growing hotter, crueler.
By nightfall, the dunes were before them---golden and endless, shimmering like false promises.
No stars above.
No horizon.
Just wind that whispered like voices in a language Elara didn't want to understand.
They made camp beneath a stone outcrop, fireless and wordless. The sand whispered still.
Elara took first watch, her blade resting across her knees, her mind restless.
Kael joined her, settling beside her with the ease of someone used to waiting in the dark.
"You're thinking too loudly," he said.
She didn't look at him. "I'm thinking about how easy it is to lose everything."
He didn't respond right away. Then, quietly, "You haven't lost everything yet."
She turned, her voice low. "What if I'm not enough? What if the sigil burns me alive before I even reach Elarion?"
Kael's hand found hers, warm and steady.
"Then I'll carry you," he said. "Until you can walk again."
Something flickered in her chest---wild, fragile.
Hope.
The kind that was terrifying because it made you want to live.