There’s something about silence that makes you hear everything the tremor of your heartbeat, the whispers between the trees, and the truths you’ve spent your whole life trying to ignore.

I stared at the map of the Wildlands again, my fingers tracing the outline of Arleta Basin. A forgotten kingdom buried in myth, ruled not by bloodline, but by survival.

The obsidian stone lay on the table beside me. Still pulsing.

Still whispering.

"You should sleep," Henry said softly behind me. ...