The road, east of the forest was older than memory, its stones cracked and half-swallowed by moss.
Aerin and Nyxara moved cautiously, aware that leaving the cover of the trees meant exposure.
The Moon Crest pulsed faintly, as if warning Aerin that the danger ahead would not come from monsters alone.
They did not know they were already being watched.
Far beyond the forest, in the high citadel of Valcaryn, King Morreth stood before a balcony of black stone watching.
His crown was thin and sharp, forged more like a weapon than a symbol of rule.
Before him, a scrying basin shimmered with silver light, revealing the image of a lone figure bearing a glowing mark upon their chest.
"The Crest lives," Morreth murmured.
A hooded advisor knelt behind him.
"As the prophecies warned, Your Majesty. The Moonbearer walks again."
Morreth's lips curled into a thin smile.
"Then the age of balance ends.
Prepare the Wardens. No bearer must ever be allowed to choose their own fate."
Back on the road, Nyxara slowed, her hand tightening around her blade.
"We're being hunted," she said quietly.
Aerin felt it too the Crest's pulse sharpening, becoming uneasy. "By what?"
"By men," Nyxara replied. "And men are worse than beasts."
As if summoned by her words, figures appeared ahead armored soldiers bearing the sigil of Valcaryn.
Their formation was disciplined, their expressions cold.
"Halt," their captain commanded. "By order of King Morreth, surrender the Moonbearer."
Aerin's breath caught.
This was no cult. No rogue hunters. This was a kingdom.
Nyxara stepped forward, blades raised. "You'll leave empty-handed."
The soldiers advanced.
Silver light flared as the Crest responded, illuminating the road in cold fire.
Aerin stood their ground, heart pounding.
The first true enemy had revealed himself not lurking in shadows, but ruling from a throne.
And war had just taken its first step.