“Oh, I meant no insult. You smell of power, Ayla Deyanira. Pure raw power.” “That’s not my last name,” I gritted out. “It’s Martinez.” “Oh, but it is,” the man said, gesturing toward the massive ceiling above. “They whisper your name like a curse through these realms, Ayla. The babe that, against all odds, survived and returned. You were destined for such greatness that the gods themselves feared it. Celestial born, Ig’Morruthen turned.”
