The forest was quiet that morning, too quiet.

A low fog rolled across the treetops, curling through the charred remains of the last battle. Darius stood at the ridge overlooking the ruins, his armor still scarred and blackened from the silver fire. Every breath he took scraped against his lungs, a constant reminder that he was still alive, and still furious.

Selene moved quietly beside him, her cloak brushing against the wet grass. Her hands were wrapped again, faint scars from the moonfire ...