Bloodline Of Ash
They left at dawn.
The journey to the Vale was a gauntlet of jagged cliffs and forests choked with mist. Nyxfiends dogged their steps, but these were no mindless drones—they struck with precision, vanishing before Aria's flames could find them. *Cyrus's eyes*, she realized. *He's watching.*
On the third day, they reached the Vale.
It was worse than the stories.
A canyon split the earth, its walls streaked with veins of obsidian. The air reeked of burnt hair and copper. At the canyon's heart stood a stone altar, stained black with old blood.
Alexander's breath hitched. "This is where she died."
Aria squeezed his arm. "Not where she'll be avenged."
They set their trap quickly. Runes carved into the rocks, ash sprinkled in hidden patterns. Marisol muttered incantations over a vial of moonwater, her hands trembling.
"When the moon rises," she warned, "the Veil will tear. You must strike before the Dark One fully manifests."
