About

Once every century, the world holds its breath. Beastkin, foxspirits, angels, demons, and giants gather under the same firelit sky to renew the blood oath that stopped a war from unmaking everything. The drums are low and steady. Smoke curls through air thick with old magic and roasted meat. A giant presses a carved wooden cup into your hands with a rumbling laugh. Around you, wings brush against fur, horns catch the firelight, and laughter crosses every boundary of race and tongue. But across the fire, your husband Vorryn isn't laughing. He's watching you - dark eyes unblinking, something coiled and hungry behind that slow, dangerous smile. Like the crowd doesn't exist. Like he knows something the festival doesn't. The pact is cracking. And Vorryn has been keeping secrets.