Page 72 of When the Moon Hatched (The Moonfall #1)

T his aurora fall, there was no carving, no meal. Just a half-folded parchment lark and a strange rusted key.

I folded the final activation line, and the lark took flight, soaring down the stairs that led to Slátra’s hutch, then taking to the back where it flapped down a shadowed tunnel I hadn’t noticed before. I followed it for a long way, the key opening a different door that shot out on the pebbled shore that cradles the glistening turquoise Loff that was ruffled by an approaching storm.

That poor lark … It was getting too soggy, struggling to maintain flight, so I cupped it in my hands, cradling the frantic thing like a caged sowmoth.

I tried to discern its desired direction based on the way it nudged against my fingers—weaving a crooked, confusing path through the jungle.

I began to get nervous, wondering if it was an ambush. If someone wanted to slaughter me to steal the Aether Stone, thinking it some priceless treasure and not the soul-sapping curse it is. But then I came to a dwelling carved into the cliff. A home so hidden away from the world that I suspect it would be impossible for anyone else to find.

Kaan was inside, sitting at a stone table he’d set for us, the air flush with the smell of colk and canit root stew.

He told me this place was his gift to me but that he didn’t have to come with it. That one word from me and he’d step out into the jungle and never return.

I was upon him before the sentence fully left his lips.

He’s fire and brimstone. I’m shattered ice. Our collision is steam and destruction, destined to dissipate, but I’ll gladly burn beneath him until the world comes crumbling down.