Chapter 16. Trial of the Ancients

The Moon Temple stood where the forest grew quiet, where even the wind forgot how to speak.

Built into the cliffside, it loomed like a hollowed fang, carved from silverstone and streaked with veins of lunar quartz that shimmered only under true moonlight. The path up was steep and winding, bordered by brambles that never seemed to bloom, and the air was thick with the scent of old thunder and moss. Wolves didn’t come here unless summoned. Even Alphas avoided its doors. There were stories—some whispered, some screamed—about what happened to those who entered with guilt on their souls.

Tonight, Neriah entered chained and unguarded. Because no one guarded the Temple. It guarded itself.

The Moon Priestess waited at the door, silent as a shadow. She was tall, her robes the color of midnight, her eyes bottomless and cold as deep water. Her fingers, long and pale, curled around a staff capped with a moonstone that pulsed faintly in the gloom. Neriah met her eyes and felt