BREATH AND BLADE

POV: Araya

The moon hangs low, bruised and swollen, silver over the training yard. Wind smooths the sand, then steals it away. Pine and iron edge the air. Somewhere, an owl calls. The stronghold sleeps.

I don’t.

My blood runs hot. My wolf paces. Hollowflame stirs at my fingertips like a blade beg...

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