The battlefield has become a storm of blood, fire, and silver light.
The Blood Moon hangs low in the sky, crimson and ominous, casting everything in an unholy glow.
Aria fights with every ounce of her Moon Goddess blessing.
Her wolf surges inside her, tearing through enemies, her energy radiating in blinding arcs.
But even her power has limits.
Malrik watches patiently from the shadows, every movement calculated, every strike anticipated.
Lyra’s betrayal has opened a hole in her defenses.
In a blur of darkness and cold, Malrik strikes.
Silver chains, ancient and enchanted, wrap around her wrists, glowing with a cruel, crimson light.
Aria struggles, her blessing flaring violently, but the chains tighten, resisting her divine power.
“No!” she screams, claws slicing through the air,
