Thunder growled across the skies as dawn broke blood-red over the Moonstone Valley. War had come—not in the sudden burst of night-raiding violence, but in the slow, ominous crawl of tension and whispered betrayal.
Aria stood just outside the sealed crypt, her hands still warm with the pulse of her sister's heartbeat. Elena lay within the stone chamber below, resting in magical stasis. Her body was stable, but her soul—still tangled in Mara's cruel threads—remained in danger.
Behind her, the sacred runes glowed faintly with the protection of the ancient spirits. And just beyond the sanctuary's edge, the trees shook—not from wind, but from the march of a new army.
Lorian Thorn had returned.
Not as the broken ghost of a forgotten Alpha, but as a conqueror bearing fire and fury in his wake.
Aria's grip tightened on the hilt of her dagger as Caleb stepped beside her, his presence grounding her in the storm. His expression was unreadable—calm on the surface, but alert.
