The nights grew colder as they traveled eastward, into lands where even the moonlight dared not linger. The winds of the storm had faded, but an eerie silence settled in their place—unnatural, thick with dread. It was Nyra who felt it first, her fire sputtering without warning one night beside the campfire.
"Something's wrong," she whispered, clutching her chest. "The air… it's too still."
Kael tensed immediately. "We're being watched."
Lyra closed her eyes, opening her senses to the world around her. She didn't hear footsteps or voices—she felt something much deeper. A hum in the ground, like the earth was holding its breath. And then… a whisper. Not in her ears, but in her mind.
Lyra…
She jolted, gasping, her silver pendant glowing faintly against her chest.
"You heard it too?" Nyra asked, her voice tight with fear.
Lyra nodded slowly. "The third moon… it's calling."
They followed the pull for three days into the Duskwither Forest—a place said to be cursed, where light vanished and shadows grew sentient. Few ever returned from its depths, and those who did were never the same.
"This is where the Moon of Shadow lies," Lyra murmured, touching the bark of a tree that wept black sap. "The Shadowborn must be close."
As they ventured deeper, the world changed.
Trees towered like silent sentinels. The sun barely pierced the canopy, and their path narrowed until they could only move single file. Kael took the lead, blade drawn, while Nyra kept a flame alight in her palm. Lyra walked last, her magic forming a silver thread to lead them back—should they survive.
Then the forest spoke.
Not with words, but emotions—sorrow, fear, longing.
Memories drifted on the air. Voices from the past. Shadows that mimicked the shape of lost loved ones.
Lyra saw her mother.
Kael saw a younger version of his brother.
Nyra fell to her knees, weeping at the sight of her father.
"It's not real," Lyra said, though her voice shook. "It's the forest. It's feeding on our grief."
A voice answered her—not from the forest, but from a figure cloaked in living shadow.
"You do not belong here," the figure said. Their voice was soft but laced with power. "This is sacred ground. Turn back, or be swallowed."
Lyra stepped forward. "You're the one we seek. The Shadowborn."
The figure tilted their head. "And what would you want with a child cursed by darkness?"
Nyra stepped forward too. "We're all cursed… or chosen. Depending on who you ask."
The figure hesitated, then stepped into the faint light. They were young—barely older than Lyra—with dark gray eyes and skin like twilight. Their magic swirled around them like smoke, not aggressive, but defensive.
"I am Elian," they said. "Born under the Moon of Shadow. I have hidden from the world because when I walk, light flees. When I speak, secrets unravel."
Lyra felt a tug in her chest. This one was more powerful than either she or Nyra had been when they first awakened. "You don't have to be alone, Elian. The moons chose us for a reason. We're meant to restore the balance… together."
Elian frowned. "I've seen what balance looks like. I've watched the cult twist it, worshiping shadow while claiming peace. They will use me. I know it."
"You're right," Kael said bluntly. "They will. Unless we stop them first."
Silence fell.
Then, Elian raised a hand—and the shadows around them receded slightly. "If I join you, the cult will come. They always do."
Lyra nodded. "Then let them come. We'll be ready."
That night, the forest itself seemed to breathe easier.
Elian sat across from Lyra and Nyra, their eyes never resting in one place for long. They were wary, coiled like a spring, but curious. "You hear the moon's voice, don't you?" they asked Lyra.
"I do," she said. "It sings in my sleep."
Elian's eyes softened. "Then you've heard the other voice too—the one beneath the song?"
Lyra's blood ran cold. "You mean… the echo?"
"Yes," Elian whispered. "It's not the moon. It's something beneath it. Something that woke when the Crimson Gate stirred."
Nyra's flame dimmed. "You think it's the god they want to summon?"
Elian didn't answer.
They didn't need to.
Because far in the distance, deep beneath the roots of the world, a faint pulse began to throb in the earth—a rhythm older than the moons themselves.
The final moon was rising.
And the darkness beneath it was stirring.