The morning of the Luna’s oath dawned clear and bright.

For the first time in months, Silvercrest woke to peace instead of fear. The scent of burning wood had faded from the air, replaced by pine and damp earth. The wind carried laughter through the village—real laughter, soft and disbelieving, like the world was learning to breathe again.

Evelyn stood before the tall mirror in her chambers, her reflection dressed in ceremonial silver. Her gown shimmered faintly, woven with threads that ...