AYLA – POV
The token glowed in my hand.
Three sigils now: mine, Neris's… and something new.
Shifting.
Undefined.
It shimmered like a secret not yet born.
Rylan tried to trace the shape. It blurred under his hand.
Daya said nothing, but her blade never left her side. Kael stood beside me, not touching, not asking—waiting.
But the weight in the air told us all the same thing: This wasn't a sign of alliance.
It was a warning.
We returned to the Grove that night.
The ash tree's leaves had begun to curl at the edges. Not from disease. From overuse. Too many threads had passed through here. Too many Luna rites cast in its shade.
It wanted rest. But rest was a luxury we couldn't afford.
The wolves of the lowlands had begun to move. Packs were dividing—some calling for a bondless age, others clinging to the bond with cult-like fervor. Rumors spread of a fourth faction. One with no name.
Rylan was the first to say it aloud.
"They're calling themselves the Unnamed."
