Chapter 7. Measured by the Moon

The iron bells split Veilgrove open. Not ceremony—war. Wards hissed to life along the cliff, silver veining the stone. Archers ran. Seers bled moonfire into sigils until the glyphs shone white and thin. One Seer flexed her hand, knuckles blanching—the toll is always the same: numb fingers, a cold ache in the teeth.

I was already on my feet before the second peal faded into the mountains. The mark flickered, a quicksilver spark under the skin. Doors slammed somewhere down the corridor; bootfalls hammered past my chamber like rain over slate. Beyond the balcony, the cliff city shook itself awake: chains clanked, winches groaned, the long breath of a thousand throats drawing tight at once.

Kael met me at the threshold to the training hall, shirt half-buttoned, blades strapped across his back. The leather lay open just enough to show the edge of an old scar crossing his ribs like a white river.

“Dusk Spire,” he said before I could ask.

“How many?”

“A war pa