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Summary
Golden blood. That's how it all began.
The proof of Anaxa's birthright as the Moonchanter of the Frostmoon Scions, ushered into a role where he had little sway. Both the burden of responsibility and the pressure of the Wild Hunt leaves him stuck, stagnant—but when he's suddenly pulled into a festering pool of that encroaching rot, he's met with not death, but a new chance at life.
Life in the form of a crumbling body before him, that promises an end to the weight chaining him down.
Life that entwines with his so readily—and as a blasphemer, why shouldn't he choose to take such a risk?