The air inside the ancient chamber trembled with power.

It was deeper than stone, older than memory—beneath the sanctuary, beneath the roots of Moonstone’s sacred land, where blood oaths had once been carved into bone and magic slept beneath runes long forgotten.

Aria stood at the center of the ritual circle, her heart a frantic drumbeat against her ribs. The runes beneath her bare feet pulsed faintly with spirit-fire, drawn not from spellbooks or scrolls—but from within. From ...