Bound by Moonlight and Magic
The stars above the Hollow shimmered, not with cold light, but with living warmth—as if they, too, had exhaled after eons of holding their breath. They were not the stars of old. Not the constellations carved into prophecy. These were new. Crafted, not discovered. Named, not inherited. And they whispered like pages turning in a celestial library, their light sketching the first lines of a world reborn.
But beneath that serenity, beneath the moss that covered a realm no longer bleeding, beneath even the bones of the Hollow’s old magic—it shifted.
It did not belong to the Archive, nor had it ever belonged to gods or witches or wolves. It had waited long before them. Waited through the first ink spilled in defiance. Waited through love stories and wars and bur
