The night air tasted different.
Colder. Thinner.
Aria stood on the edge of the sanctuary's overlook, her hair braided back tightly, the embers from the great flame tree behind her flickering with each pulse of her heartbeat. Since the crown had merged with her, her senses had sharpened. Every breeze whispered truths. Every shadow moved like it had a name.
And tonight, the fire whispered one word.
Voryn.
He had felt it. Her awakening.
She could sense him like a thorn buried in the horizon—his magic biting and strange, like a flame devouring itself. A black fire that didn't warm, didn't light… only consumed.
"He's moving," she said aloud.
Behind her, Rowan stepped into view. His boots made no sound, but she still felt him before he spoke.
"He's accelerating everything," Rowan said. "The Obsidian channels are vibrating. The Maw is stirring. He's preparing something—big."
Aria nodded slowly. "He knows about the crown."
