That night, Aldric appeared on her balcony without warning, drenched in rain, cloak frayed.
"You were right," he said. "The Herald wasn't summoned. It woke."
She pulled him inside. "Why now?"
"Because the Veil is weakening. And our bond—it's a beacon."
They sat by the fireplace as he shed his coat. She noticed a cut along his shoulder, deep and oddly dark.
"You're hurt," she said.
"It'll heal."
She stood. "You said no more secrets. So tell me what you're not saying."
Aldric exhaled slowly. "The Heralds were sealed centuries ago—by the first pact‑bearers. I was one of them."
Elara's breath caught. "You never told me."
"I thought the seal would hold. I was wrong."
He leaned back. "The Herald that found you—it recognized your blood. You are not just a moon-bride. You're a descendent of the First Circle."
Lightning flared outside.
Elara stood frozen. "So… I wasn't chosen at random."
He nodded. "No. You were always meant to find me."
The storm raged outside, but inside, Elara felt something colder. Not betrayal—but destiny, tightening its grip.
And somewhere, far beneath the city, a second Herald stirred.