The canyon held its breath.
From the jagged cliffs of the Hollow, moonlight streamed in silver beams, illuminating the ancient stones. The air was thick with anticipation. Above them, the sky churned with slow, silent clouds. The Circle stood in reverent silence as the last of the old runes flared to life beneath their feet.
Aria stood at the center, a thin thread of spirit silk wrapped around her wrist—warm, luminous, humming with dormant power.
"It's responding to her," Thalia said, her voice low, awed. "The thread has chosen."
"What does that mean?" Elena asked, fingers tightening around her spirit dagger.
Thalia's gaze didn't move from the glowing thread. "It means she's ready. Or it believes she is."
Aria took a slow breath. She could feel the thread pulsing in time with her heartbeat, each throb echoing through her chest like a drum of fate. It was tethered not just to her magic, but her memories. Every decision, every scar, every moment that brought her to this edge.
