Bound by Moonlight and Magic
The ink was still wet.
It dripped from his fingers like blood, black and shimmering with fractured memory. The editor stood in the ruins of what once had been the Library of Echoes—though now it was little more than a graveyard of twisted shelves and torn vellum, the air thick with the scent of scorched parchment and regret.
He knelt beside the broken pedestal where the Archive's heart had once pulsed with endless stories.
Gone.
But not undone.
The child had claimed remembrance, and the Hollowkeeper had spoken a vow. That should have been the end.
And yet… endings were not in his nature.
"They think this is a victory," he murmured, dragging his ink-slicked finger across the stone floor. The glyph that formed shimmered with unstable geometry—letters that
