SAGE
I had thought I understood what pride felt like.
I was wrong.
From the raised dais where I sat between Adam and his brothers, their Lunas flanking them like jewels, I waited to watch my sister walk toward destiny.
The hall of the witches' community had been transformed beyond recognition. Where once there had been stone floors etched with ancient sigils, there now lay layered carpets in deep plum and midnight blue, threaded with silver runes.
Hundreds of floating candles drifted near the vaulted ceiling, their flames golden, casting soft halos against carved arches of white marble. Incense curled lazily through the air—lavender, myrrh, and something sweeter I could not name—blending into a scent that felt ceremonial, sacred.
