For the first time in centuries, the world slept.

Not with the heavy silence of death but with breathing, pulsing life. The rivers hummed softly, the stars whispered to the oceans, and the air smelled of ash and spring.

But dreams are never still.

The Ashborn’s light pulsed through the night sky, shaping clouds into visions. Wolves and mortals alike began to see things while they slept Kael’s fire, my blood, the wars we’d survived. The world was remembering, but not passively.

It was ...