The palace sky had thinned. Not with quiet—but with tension, as if heaven itself was taking a deep breath, waiting to exhale. The winds no longer sang. The birds never came back. The ley lines that danced together in harmony were severed, thrumming just below the earth's surface like raw nerves.

In the east tower, Melucia sat alone in front of a broken mirror. She had no idea how she'd done it. Only that, in the dream, it had been Sireena's voice—Old Tongue incantation, calling her child, ...