Page 220 of The Moonborn's Curse

My brother—he died last year—

We need reinforcements at the eastern border

Hagan staggered under the weight of it—so many voices, so much fear. He closed his eyes for a second, fingers gripping the edge of the central table.

The door burst open—a scout, wide-eyed and breathless.

"Wolves!" he shouted. "Pouring out of the caves. And an army behind them—too many to count!"

Chaos surged. Flame leapt high from the braziers. Steel sang from hastily drawn sheaths. Cries echoed as warriors raced to the outer defences. The scent of war filled the hall like a storm at sea. The hum of fear sparked off the walls like flashes of lightning.

Meanwhile in Starnheim

The door slammed shut behind Lilja, leaving Seren alone in the cell's dim flicker.

Hours had passed since her capture and every one of them she'd spent playing the role they expected—docile, cornered, afraid. She'd slowed their steps with feigned weakness, whispered half-truths, and misdirected when she could.

Now, with the stone silence settling around her, the act dropped like a mask slipping from her face.

Her arm lifted. She pressed her thumb into a rune hidden beneath her armpit—faintly glowing, inked by Ryn's careful hands. They'd told her no one would think to look there. They'd been right. Like a mystical panic button, she had activated as soon as she entered the caves.

The evil ones had taken her phone and everything else in her pockets including her beloved knives. But they had missed this.

A flicker of gratitude surged through her.

She closed her eyes and inhaled the stale air. Ana. Ryn. They had to be close by now.

Drawing in a steady breath, she reached out—not physically, but with herothersense.

And there they were.

Mice nesting in the stone. Termites feasting on soft beams. Insects scuttling through floor cracks. Centipedes winding through damp soil.

Small. Forgotten. Overlooked.

But hers now.

She whispered to them in the language only she could use and only they could understand.

"Dig."

All at once, claws scraped wood. Mandibles clicked. Little bodies pressed forward with a single purpose. She heard it begin—the faint, frantic scuttling, the soft crumble of dust.

"Quiet"

The sound quietened to a faint buzz.

Slowly a tunnel began to take shape through the mud walls in front of her.

She was not done.

Not by a long shot.

They dared threaten her Fated. Her family.

They don’t know who they are dealing with.

When the time came—

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