Kaelen…

The most damning discovery came as dawn bled into the world. In a hollow near the water we found an altar, and on its stone a smear of ink and blood arranged in a sigil the old priests used to call storms. It was not random runes but a pattern: a center point ringed by smaller crescents—the same twisted crescent from the bundle. Surrounding it in a shaky, human handwriting were words in the old tongue: Obey. Protect. Feed.

Magic with language as its backbone. A conjuration of ...