The Sentinel's scream tore through Luneville like a blade through silk. Windows rattled. The cobblestones cracked. Torches blew out in one violent gust, plunging the square into half-darkness.
Lysandra staggered backward, her ears ringing.
Evander caught her shoulder, barely keeping her from falling off the platform.
The Heir stepped in front of them, shadows braced like a wall.
The Sentinel—long, pale, formless—hovered above the square, its edges dissolving like mist blown by wind. Its voice pressed down on the crowd like invisible hands.
UNBOUND MOON.
ILL-FITTED TO THE WORLD OF MEN.
Lysandra's wolf snarled inside her.
We belong where we stand.
They do not decide.
We do.
Evander's voice shook, but his stance didn't.
"Lysandra, it's targeting you—don't let it get close."
The Heir didn't look away from the Sentinel.
"It isn't targeting. It is judging. The Order only calls these things when they want a sentence carried out."
"And what sentence would that be?" Evander demanded.
The Heir's jaw tightened.
"Erasure."
Lysandra inhaled sharply. "Erasure of what—my magic?"
"No," the Heir said softly.
"Of you."
A tremor ran up her spine.
The commander raised his voice, triumphant.
"The Sentinel has come to purge the corruption that stains this town. Submit, Moon-touched one, and let the light restore purity."
Evander barked out a bitter, humorless laugh.
"You're insane! She saved half of you from the winter fever last year—she—"
The commander slammed his staff on the wood.
"Silence! She is shadow-marked!"
"No," Lysandra said quietly.
"I'm not shadow-marked. I'm shadow-claimed."
The Heir's shadows swelled at her words.
The Sentinel recoiled, its pale body warping as if in pain.
SHADOW AND MOON CANNOT COEXIST.
Lysandra stepped forward anyway.
"I'm standing right here," she said. "Do I look dead to you?"
Evander hissed, "You don't provoke the glowing monster—what are you doing—"
But the Sentinel shrieked again, louder.
Wind whipped across the square.
Children cried.
People scattered, knocking over crates and market stalls as they tried to run.
The robed woman from the Order pointed at Lysandra, voice shrill.
"Contain her! Bind her to the mark!"
Blue flames circled the platform.
Evander swore. "I hate that color. Nothing good is ever blue in this Realm."
"This isn't the Realm," the Heir said.
"This is your human world using magic it does not understand."
The flames surged upward, forming a cage of shimmering light around Lysandra.
Evander and the Heir were outside it.
Lysandra was inside.
Evander slammed his shoulder into the barrier. It repelled him violently, throwing him onto the stone steps.
"Evander!" Lysandra cried.
He groaned, but forced himself upright, staggering but furious.
"Try that again, cage. I dare you."
The Heir didn't try brute force.
He touched the barrier with two fingers.
The light recoiled as if burned.
His voice dropped an octave, steeped in shadow.
"This magic is not meant for her kind. Or mine. It is stolen."
"Stolen?" Lysandra whispered.
The Heir nodded once.
"Yes. Light that was never theirs to wield."
The commander lifted his staff and shouted:
"Sentinel! Cleanse the corruption!"
The creature obeyed.
It swooped downward, its long limbs stretching like white-hot tendrils, reaching for Lysandra.
Her wolf slammed upward in her chest.
Fight.
Burn.
Do not bend.
Lysandra lifted her hands.
Moonlight burst from her palms, a silver blast that struck the Sentinel full in its faceless head.
The creature recoiled, shrieking.
The entire square shook from the force.
The commander barked, "Again!"
Lysandra threw another blast—
but the blue barrier around her snapped tighter, constricting her movements.
Her magic cracked against it, unable to break through.
Evander pounded the barrier with both fists.
"Let her out! She can't fight it if she can't move!"
"Stand back," the Heir said.
"Like hell!"
But the Heir didn't argue.
He pressed his palm flat against the barrier, shadows rising in a spiral around his arm.
The light flickered in panic.
And Lysandra understood:
The barrier wasn't meant to restrain an Awakened Moonblood.
It was meant to restrain an ordinary witchling.
It was built too small for her power.
She pushed her wolf to the surface.
Her silver glow sharpened.
Her veins hummed with the Realm's heartbeat.
The Sentinel dove again.
The barrier brightened—
trying too late to contain her.
Lysandra exhaled.
And let go.
The barrier shattered like glass.
Evander shielded his face from the spray of blue shards.
The Heir's shadows slammed into the pieces, dissolving them before they hit the crowd.
Lysandra stepped free, silver trailing from her shoulders like a second cloak.
The Sentinel crashed into the platform, sending splinters flying.
Lysandra walked toward it.
Evander's voice cracked.
"Lys—wait—!"
But she had no fear.
Only clarity.
The Sentinel rose again, trembling, its body flickering between shapes—
half mist, half bone-like structures that weren't truly physical.
It was growing unstable.
She lifted her arm.
The creature shrieked and lunged.
Evander didn't reach her in time.
The Heir didn't move quickly enough.
But her wolf did.
Silver fire erupted from her skin, spiraling around her arm into a crescent-shaped blade of moonlight.
She met the creature's attack head-on.
Her blade sliced through its chest.
Light exploded outward.
The creature's scream broke into static.
Its form disintegrated in a slow, spiraling collapse—
until only dust remained.
Silence fell.
People stared with open mouths.
No one moved.
Not the guards.
Not the Order.
Not the crowd.
No one except Marcel.
He looked up from his knees, tears shining in his eyes.
"Moon-girl," he whispered.
"You came back."
Her heart ached.
But before she could speak, the robed woman screamed,
"She killed a Sentinel!"
The commander pointed at Lysandra with a trembling hand.
"She is an abomination—she must be seized!"
Evander didn't let him finish.
He stepped onto the platform and stood beside her, chest heaving, face set like iron.
"She saved your lives," he snapped. "You stupid, blind—"
A shadow swept past him.
The Heir.
He took his place on her other side.
His voice was calm.
Cold.
"Try to seize her," he said.
"And I will show you what real judgment looks like."
Torches flickered wildly, reacting to his presence.
The crowd stepped back.
The commander's mask quivered.
Fear cracked his posture.
Lysandra stood between the two men—silver, gold, and shadow swirling around her.
Her wolf lifted its head.
We are not alone.
We are not hunted.
We are done running.
She looked at the Order, voice quiet but sharp as moonlight.
"I am not your monster," she said.
"And I am not your sacrifice."
She lifted her chin.
"Luneville is my home.
And I defend what is mine."
The square trembled beneath her feet.
A new presence stirred above them—
not Sentinel
not shadow
not human.
A deeper power.
A call.
Something ancient had felt her awakening.
Something older than the Order, older than the Realm.
And it was coming.
The Heir felt it first.
His eyes snapped upward.
Evander's hand tightened around hers.
Lysandra's heart pounded—
as the sky above the square
began
to crack.