The air in the dungeon had grown thick, nearly solid, heavy with ancient power and the scent of smoldering stone.
Queen Alia stood alone at the center of the chamber, surrounded by intricate glyphs drawn in salt, ash, and moon-silver dust. Candles flickered with blue flames at each cardinal point, their light throwing monstrous shadows across the arched stone walls. Every breath she drew was laced with tension. There would be no turning back now.
River lay at the heart of the circle, her body curled tightly as if protecting herself from the very force trying to rise from within. Sweat drenched her skin. Her eyes—usually warm, curious, so fiercely alive—were now glassy with pain, their depths storming with the birth of something new. Something ancient. Something forgotten.
Alia inhaled
