I followed the corridor downward, drawn by the scent of ash and iron until the passage opened into Blackfang’s lower training grounds. A cavern the size of a small city yawned beneath the citadel, its ceiling lost in mist. Warriors sparred in brutal silence, bodies crashing together with bone-jarring force. No ritual circles. No Moon banners.
Only raw power.
One of them was thrown across the sand, landing at my feet with a grunt. He rolled to his knees, blood at the corner of his mouth, then looked up at me.
His eyes widened. “You’re her.”
“I don’t know who you think I am,” I said.
He barked out a humorless laugh. “The Silvermoon Luna who cut her mate-mark and walked into Blackfang like she owned the mountain.”
That story had already spread.
Before I could respond, the air shifted. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. The cavern fell unnaturally still.
Nicero stepped onto the upper ledge.
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
“Continue,” he said simply.
The warriors obeyed at once, the tension breaking as sparring resumed. His gaze found mine across the cavern, and I felt the Moon-root’s lingering resonance hum faintly in my bones.