“Silvermoon Alpha breached the outer Frostline ring,” one reported. “He’s alone.”
Alone.
Of course he was. Kael never understood that power came from unity, not dominance.
“I will speak to him,” I said.
Nicero’s jaw tightened. “No.”
“He is not here for you,” I replied evenly. “He is here for me.”
“That’s exactly why you’re not going,” Nicero snapped.
The air between us crackled — not hostility, but collision of wills. For a heartbeat, neither of us yielded.
Then I felt it.
The Moon-root’s pulse beneath the citadel, responding not to Nicero, not to the elders — to me.
“He can’t be allowed past the inner wards,” I said quietly. “But he will not leave without facing what he’s done. Let me end this.”
Nicero searched my face. Finally, he exhaled slowly.
“One chance,” he said. “You are not his Luna anymore. You are Blackfang’s contract-bearer. Remember that.”
I did.
I met Kael at the border of the inner sanctum — a stone bridge spanning a chasm filled with glowing mist, ancient territorial magic churning far below. The wind tore at my cloak as I stepped onto the bridge.