The night air felt alive. Every shadow, every gust of wind, every crackle of distant stone whispered of change. The world outside the abyss had not yet noticed, but the balance had shifted irreversibly. Aria stood atop a fractured plateau, silver light coiling around her like a living cloak. Her muscles ached, every inch of her body screaming from the previous confrontation, but the exhaustion did not break her. It only sharpened her focus.She could feel the pull of the Moonborn legacy within her. It was raw, ancient, and impatient. The power was no longer simply hers it was entwined with Rowan’s, tethered by blood, by bond, by shared survival. And yet, unlike before, it did not seek destruction. It sought correction. Reclamation. Justice.The abyss trembled beneath her boots. Shadows receded with every deliberate step she took, but they lingered at the edges, testing her patience, probing her resolve. This place had been a prison for centuries. It was not inclined to surrender easil

WHEN THE MOON ANSWERS BACKThe land beyond the abyss did not welcome them.It watched.Aria felt it the moment the last thread of shadow released her. The air was heavier here, thick with memory and restraint, as if the world itself was holding its breath after centuries of silence. The ground beneath her feet was pale stone veined with faint silver lines that pulsed slowly, like scars that never truly healed.This place remembered the Moonborn.And it did not know whether to fear her or kneel.Rowan stayed close, not touching her, but never more than a breath away. His presence grounded her in a way nothing else could. The fire within him had changed. It no longer flared aggressively or threatened to burn out of control. It moved with purpose now, restrained not by force but by understanding.Behind them, the wolves gathered in uneasy stillness.No howls.No growls.Just awareness.Aria turned slowly, meeting their eyes one by one. She could feel their questions pressing against her

The journey to the Hollow Crown was nothing like Aria expected. It was not a path, not a trail, not even a valley. It was a land suspended between memory and reality, scarred by centuries of conflict, where stone and shadow had merged into something alive. Every step felt heavier than the last, every breath tasted of iron and ash.The wolves flanked them, some in full form, others shifting between human and wolf, all alert and tense. The air carried the scent of old battles—blood, smoke, and something older, something that whispered promises of power and revenge. Aria could feel it crawling under her skin, pressing at her silver veins, daring her to falter.Rowan stayed close, his fire contained but ready. He moved with a predator’s instinct, reading the land, reading the wolves, reading her. They were both aware: the Hollow Crown did not wait for the weak. It did not forgive hesitation.Ahead, the land began to rise. Jagged cliffs spiraled like teeth into the storm-darkened sky, and

THE RISING TIDEThe Hollow Crown had not finished speaking.Even after Malachar’s retreat, the plateau throbbed with life, as if the land itself had taken a deep breath and refused to exhale. Aria stood at the center, silver light still coiling faintly along her arms, heartbeat echoing through the stone beneath her feet. The wolves circled her, eyes alert, muscles taut, every movement a testament to the bond they shared. This was no longer a gathering of followers it was a pack born of blood, fire, and purpose.Rowan knelt briefly, scanning the perimeter, fire coiling in his veins, ready to ignite at the slightest threat. “He’s not gone,” he said softly, voice tight with focus. “Malachar never truly leaves. He waits. Watches. Learns.”Aria nodded, sensing the truth in his words. Malachar’s retreat was temporary. A shadow warrior like him did not flee without strategy, without preparation. And the Hollow Crown had revealed that the next strike would come not just with force, but with

THE HUNTER AND THE MOONThe Hollow Crown seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat now, a deep, resonant thrum that vibrated through Aria’s bones and the paws of the wolves around her. The energy that had been stirred in the previous battle had not settled it had awakened, feeding on their presence, on the bond that connected Moonborn, fire, and wolf. Every rock, every fissure, every spire was alive with anticipation, waiting for the next move.Rowan’s eyes scanned the horizon. The wind carried a metallic scent blood, iron, and the unmistakable trace of Malachar’s presence. The enemy had not fled. He had not retreated for mercy or weakness; he had withdrawn to strategize, to strike when the Moonborn least expected it.“They’re preparing,” Rowan murmured, gold light flickering beneath his skin. “Malachar always strikes from where you don’t expect him.”Aria’s silver veins pulsed in reply. She could feel it too not just him, but the remnants of the packs he had corrupted, the wolves twi