The night deepened around Blackclaw estate like a living thing, thick and watchful, pressing against stone and bone alike. It was not the quiet of peace but the kind that followed devastation after screams had faded, after blood had soaked into earth that would remember it forever. The moon hung low, swollen and pale, its silver glow slipping through fractured battlements and shattered windows, casting long shadows that shifted even when nothing moved.
Selara stood at the edge of the inner chamber, unmoving, as if rooted there by something stronger than will. The air smelled of crushed herbs, iron, and burned magic. It wrapped around her lungs with every breath, grounding and suffocating all at once.
