Chapter 72. The Elder at Dawn

The Starlit Elder’s chamber was small enough to be honest. No carved moons. No choir of ghosts. A table, two stools, one brazier that burned without smoke like it hated witnesses.

“Leave the door,” she told Syra without looking up from the parchment in her hand.

Syra planted herself just outside the frame. Neris vanished into wall and shadow. Orla stayed, soft-shouldered, pockets full of quiet knives.

I set the Spine on the table. The blade didn’t gleam. It waited.

“You play it like someone who never learned to fear music,” the Elder said, laying the parchment aside. “Keep that. Throw everything else away before it gets you killed.”

Kael stood at my shoulder, hands empty on purpose, the crescent over his sternum catching the brazier’s light. The Elder’s gaze flicked to it and back to my face, the sort of glance you reserve for proof you put away years ago that has come back in a new frame.

“You’re Selune-born,” she said to me, as if we were choosi