The Keeper's Invocation
By salt of earth and breath of sky,
By silver veins where spirits lie,
By moonlit vow and keeper's hand,
We wake the stones, we guard the land.
Let peace be bound, let shadow flee,
Let hearts hold fast in harmony.
Where wardlights burn and faith runs deep,
No evil stirs, no spirit weeps.
The moon hung low, silver-pale and calm, when Mira left the manor gates.
Dew clung to her boots, and the scent of wet grass mingled with the faint tang of salt carried on the breeze. Behind her, the torches along Station One guttered and died, leaving only the lantern swinging from her hand.
"Stay close, Den," she said.
Her apprentice trotted after her, clutching a small chest of supplies. The boy's cloak was too large; its hem dragged in the mud. Every few steps, he stumbled, then straightened with stubborn pride.
"I packed everything, Mistress Mira—salt, silver, the vial, even a spare brush."
"You remembered the runes, I hope?"
