The space had no walls.
No sky. No ground. Just a slow, breathing darkness threaded with silver—like starlight caught in spider silk. Luna stood barefoot on something that felt like stone but gave slightly under her weight, warm as living skin.
She wasn't alone.
Four figures waited at the cardinal points, cloaked in light that shifted with every breath she took.
To the north: Kai. Not as he was in the forest—pale and ancient—but as he'd been the day he first held her, six years old and covered in mud. His eyes held both memory and warning.
To the east: Victoria. Not in her Geneva armor, but in simple linen, hair loose, hands empty. She didn't smile. But she didn't look away.
To the south: The moss-and-antler being from the Black Forest—the voice of the Twelve. Its form pulsed gently, roots trailing into the void like veins.
