The first tremor came at midnight.
The earth groaned like a beast in pain, sending shivers through the high peaks of Eldrath. Birds shrieked and took flight. Icicles shattered on stone. And deep within the village of Vernhollow, nestled between snow-dusted ridges, Liora woke with a gasp.
She sat up in her bed, breath misting in the cold air. The wooden beams of her ceiling trembled as if the mountain itself were breathing above her. But it wasn't the quake that made her heart race.
It was the glow.
Her right shoulder burned. She yanked down the collar of her nightdress and saw it — a pale silver symbol, spiraling like the crescent moon, glowing faintly beneath her skin.
"No..." she whispered, scrambling to her feet.
She knew the stories. The Mark of the Moon belonged to the old Guardians — warriors who vanished centuries ago after sealing away the mountain's cursed heart. No one had borne the mark since. And those who did... never lived long after.
Her door slammed open.
"Liora!" It was Gran Mereth, the village elder, face pale and eyes wide. "Get dressed. You need to come with me."
"Gran, what's happening to me?" Liora's voice cracked.
"Something terrible," the old woman said. "And you're the only one who can stop it."
Outside, the village stirred in panic. Snow fell like ash, and the mountains, once quiet and beautiful, loomed like silent watchers.
From the cliffs above, a figure in dark armor watched the girl with the silver mark.
Kael, the banished prince, smirked.
"So she's the one," he murmured. "This is going to be... entertaining."