The path to the old Moon Temple wound through forests that had forgotten the warmth of dawn. Even when the sun rose, its light barely touched the moss-covered ground. Shadows clung to the trees like memories too stubborn to die.
Aria led the way, silent but certain. Every step she took made the air hum faintly, as if the forest itself recognized her — or feared her. Damian followed close behind, his gaze never leaving her back. Kael brought up the rear, his senses sharp, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.
They had been walking for hours when the first traces of the temple appeared — broken pillars half-buried in earth, their surfaces etched with lunar runes long faded. The ground beneath them shimmered faintly, reflecting traces of forgotten magic.
"This place feels alive," Damian murmured.
Kael's voice was low, cautious. "It remembers. Temples built by the Moon aren't just stone. They're bindings. They hold her light — and her wrath."
