The night was unnaturally still, the kind of silence that pressed against the skin and made even the bravest warrior glance over his shoulder. Evelyn stood at the edge of the courtyard, her cloak brushing the ground as she looked up at the rising moon. Its silver light painted the stone in pale shades, soft yet sharp, as though the Goddess herself was watching. She felt the weight of that gaze in her chest. Tonight was no ordinary night. Tonight, the whispers would either die away or roar into open defiance.
The council had demanded a trial, a relic of ancient law rarely used in modern times. It was not for Damien, nor for the elders who despised her. It was for her. A trial of Luna worthiness, they called it, though the word worthiness dripped with venom on their tongues. Evelyn had accepted without hesitation, because hesitation would have been as good as surrender.
