Beyond the Moonveil lay the Valley of Silence.
The air here didn't stir. Bones littered the ground—thousands of them, sun-bleached and still, arranged in spirals and rows like songs only the dead could read.
Briar stepped forward. The bones vibrated underfoot. A low hum echoed around them—haunting and melodic.
"They're singing," Kael whispered.
Corva knelt beside a shattered ribcage. "They were your army. Long ago. This place remembers."
Briar's breath caught. "I led these people?"
"You did more than lead," Corva said. "You raised them."
Briar dropped to her knees. A song rose in her throat, unbidden. Not lyrics. Just sound. Notes shaped by grief, power, memory.
The bones began to rise.
Skeletons reassembled themselves, standing tall with glowing eyes. They did not attack. They bowed.
Kael took a step back. "What kind of queen raises the dead with a lullaby?"
Briar stood slowly. "One who remembers her enemies never sleep."
The skeletons turned and parted, revealing a narrow stone path leading toward the mountains.
Corva whispered, "They remember who you are."
"So do I," Briar said.
And the bones began to sing louder.