Zara's POV The bakery is quiet, the soft hum of the oven the only sound breaking the silence. The twins are at the counter, their heads bent over a coloring book, their little hands moving in sync as they fill the pages with bright, chaotic colors. I watch them from the kitchen, my heart swelling with a mix of love and fear. They’re so innocent, so unaware of the storm brewing just outside the fragile bubble I’ve built for them. And then the door opens. The bell above it jingles, a sound so familiar it usually brings me comfort. But not today. Today, it feels like a warning. I step out of the kitchen, wiping my hands on my apron, and freeze. Ryland stands in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame, his presence overwhelming. His dark eyes sweep the room, landing on the twins before finally settling on me. My heart stops. “Mommy?” Selene’s voice is small, curious. She peeks around me, her wide eyes darting between me and Ryland. “Who’s that?” I don’t answer. I
Zara's POV The days after Ryland’s arrival blur together, each one a strange mix of tension and tentative hope. He doesn’t push, doesn’t demand. He just… stays. He lingers on the edges of our lives, watching, waiting, as if he’s afraid to step too close. The twins, of course, are curious. They ask questions—questions I don’t know how to answer. “Is he our daddy?” Selene asks one evening as I tuck her into bed. I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. “Why do you ask that?” She shrugs, her little face serious. “He looks like us. And he smells… familiar.” I swallow hard, my throat tight. “He’s… someone from Mommy’s past. But he’s not your daddy.” It’s a lie, and I hate myself for it. But I’m not ready to tell them the truth. Not yet. Silas, ever the perceptive one, doesn’t ask. He just watches Ryland with a quiet intensity, like he’s trying to figure him out. One afternoon, I find Ryland sitting on the porch, his head in his hands. He looks up when I approach, his eyes shado
Zara’s POV The twins’ laughter echoes through the forest, a sound so pure it almost drowns out the unease clawing at my chest. Silas and Selene dart between the trees, their small hands brushing against bark and leaves as they play a game only they understand. Ryland walks beside me, his presence a steady hum of warmth, but I keep my distance. Trust is still a fragile thing, like glass balanced on the edge of a table. “They’re adapting well,” Ryland says, his voice low, careful. I nod, my eyes never leaving the twins. “They’ve always loved the woods. Even when we lived in town, they’d beg to explore the park.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “They’re naturals. Look at how they move—like they’ve known these trails their whole lives.” I bite back the sharp reply on my tongue. *They should have.* This life—the scent of pine, the rhythm of the pack, the safety of a territory—should have been theirs from the start. But I don’t say it. The past is a wound we’re both
Zara's POV The scent of burnt sage and dried blood clings to the air, a bitter reminder of the battle we barely survived. The pack gathers in the central clearing at dusk, their faces gaunt under the fading light. Three pyres burn at the edge of the territory, flames devouring the bodies of the warriors lost to Zane’s ambush. Ryland stands at the front, his posture rigid, his voice steady as he recites the rites of passage. But I see the tremor in his hands, the way his jaw clenches every time the wind carries the twins’ whispers to his ears. *We failed them.* The guilt is a living thing, gnawing at my ribs. Selene presses her face into my side, her small fingers clutching my sleeve. “Why are they burning, Mommy?” “It’s how we say goodbye,” I murmur, stroking her hair. “Their spirits will join the Moon Goddess now.” Silas says nothing. He stares at the flames, his eyes reflecting the firelight like twin coals. There’s a stillness in him that frightens me, a quiet too heavy fo
Zara's POV The forest is quiet tonight, the kind of quiet that feels heavy, like the world is holding its breath. The twins are asleep in their room, their small bodies curled together under a blanket of moonlight. I sit on the porch, my fingers tracing the rim of a teacup I haven’t touched. The steam has long since faded, but I can’t bring myself to move. Ryland steps out of the shadows, his presence a low hum against my senses. He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans against the railing and stares into the trees. “Can’t sleep?” he asks finally, his voice soft. I shake my head. “Too much noise in my head.” He nods, like he understands. Maybe he does. The weight of the pack, the twins, the constant threat of Zane—it’s a lot for anyone to carry. “They’re getting stronger,” he says after a moment. “The twins. Lira says they’re progressing faster than she expected.” “That’s not always a good thing,” I murmur, my gaze drifting to the window where the twins sleep. “They’
Zara's POV The forest is a blur of shadows and moonlight as we race back to the Bloodfang territory. My heart pounds in time with my paws hitting the ground, each step echoing the frantic rhythm of my thoughts. *The twins. The twins. The twins.* Ryland runs beside me, his massive wolf form cutting through the underbrush like a blade. The rest of the pack follows, their snarls and growls a grim symphony that chills the night air. The howl we heard wasn’t just a warning—it was a cry for help. When we reach the edge of the territory, the scent of smoke and blood hits me like a punch to the gut. The safehouse is in ruins, its walls charred and crumbling. The air is thick with the acrid stench of burning wood and the metallic tang of blood. “No,” I whisper, shifting back to my human form as I stumble toward the wreckage. My legs feel like they’re made of lead, each step heavier than the last. Ryland shifts beside me, his hand gripping my arm. “Zara, wait—” I shake him off, my vi
Zara’s POV The first frost of the season dusts the forest floor, glittering like shattered diamonds under the pale morning sun. Winter has always been a time of quiet—of huddling close for warmth, of stories whispered by firelight. But this year, the cold feels different. It’s not just the chill in the air; it’s the weight of what we’ve survived, the ghosts of what we’ve lost. The twins sit cross-legged in the clearing, their breath visible in sharp puffs as Lira guides them through another lesson. Selene’s palms glow faintly, cradling a sphere of silver light, while Silas traces symbols in the air that linger like glowing embers. Their control is better now, steadier, but I still catch the flicker of fear in their eyes when the power surges. Ryland leans against a tree beside me, his arms crossed, his gaze never leaving the twins. “They’re getting stronger every day,” he murmurs, pride softening the hard edges of his voice. “Too strong,” I say, my throat tight. “What happens w
Zara’s POV The Northern Ridge Pack arrives at noon, their arrival heralded by the sharp crack of frost underfoot and the low rumble of their Alpha’s voice. They’re a rugged group, their fur thick and matted from the harsh northern winters, their eyes sharp and assessing as they step into our territory. Their Alpha, a broad-shouldered man named Torin, strides toward Ryland with a confidence that borders on arrogance. His gaze sweeps over the clearing, lingering on the twins where they sit with Lira, their heads bent over a pile of glowing stones. “So,” Torin says, his voice a deep rumble, “these are the children everyone’s talking about.” Ryland steps forward, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. “They’re more than just talk, Torin. They’re the future.” Torin snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “The future, huh? They look like pups to me.” I bristle, my wolf stirring beneath my skin, but Ryland’s hand on my arm stops me from speaking. “They’re young,” Ryland admit
**Silas’s POV** The Trinity steps forward, its tri-colored eye burning like a dying star. The ground beneath its feet cracks, veins of violet and gold spreading like poisoned roots. Its voice echoes with the First Shadow’s malice, the crow’s cunning, and something else—something raw and hungry. *“You cannot run from inevitability,”* it croons, flexing a hand woven of shadow and light. *“The Veil’s chaos is my birthright.”* The void wolf circles us, its eyeless gaze piercing. Selene grips my arm, her bloodied sleeve staining my skin. “We need to split up. Distract it.” Jarek steps between us and the Trinity, his dagger trembling. “Go. I’ll hold it.” “You’ll die,” I snap. He bares his teeth. “Better than living useless.” The Trinity laughs, a sound like shattering glass. *“How noble. Let’s test that.”* It flicks a finger. The void wolf lunges. **Selene’s Flight** We sprint into the skeletal forest, the Trinity’s laughter chasing us. My glow flickers, strained from s
**Silas’s POV** The scar itches. Not the searing pain of before, but a slow, creeping burn that makes my skin crawl. I scratch at it absently, my gaze locked on the golden crow—*gray-eyed* crow—perched in the dead oak. Its once-bright plumage is dull, streaked with ash, and it watches me with an unsettling stillness. “It’s changing,” I mutter to Selene. She doesn’t look up from the map of Veil fractures. “Everything’s changing.” The pack’s camp buzzes with wary energy. Wolves sharpen blades, mutter prayers, and side-eye Jarek as he hauls water from the creek. His shoulders are hunched, his movements mechanical, like a puppet held together by guilt. Ryland emerges from his tent, his gaze sweeping the clearing. “Scouts report a new tear near the southern ridge. Selene, Silas—you’ll lead the team to seal it.” Jarek steps forward, his voice rough. “Let me go instead. They shouldn’t risk—” “You’ve risked enough,” Ryland snaps. The crow caws abruptly, its gray eye flashing.
**Ryland’s POV** The pack’s council fire burns low, its embers reflecting the fractured trust in the wolves’ eyes. Jarek sits apart, his head bowed, the shadow crow’s corruption scrubbed from his veins but not his soul. The guilt radiating from him is palpable, a stench even the night wind can’t carry away. Kieran tosses a log onto the fire, sparks spiraling into the dark. “We need to fortify the borders. The Veil’s tears are seeping into the territory. Last night, the river turned black.” Murmurs ripple through the pack. A young mother clutches her pup closer. “Will it spread here?” “No,” I say, the lie smooth and heavy. “We’ll contain it.” Jarek’s laugh is a broken rasp. “You don’t even believe that.” Silence falls. The fire crackles, its light flickering over the scars we all wear. Selene steps into the circle, her glow dim but steady. “The Veil’s heart is weak, but not broken. We can still save it.” “How?” Jarek challenges. “With more sacrifices? More *children’s*
**Ryland’s POV** The ground splinters beneath our feet, jagged fissures snaking outward like veins of decay. The air vibrates with the Veil’s anguished scream, a sound that claws at the mind and soul. Jarek stands at the tomb’s entrance, the black shard pulsing in his grip, his eyes twin pools of violet fire. “You’ve doomed us all,” I snarl, shifting as the pack scatters behind me. He laughs, the shadow crow perched on his shoulder like a twisted crown. “No, Alpha. I’ve *freed* us.” The shard’s energy writhes around him, tendrils of darkness lashing at the crumbling stone. Behind him, the tomb’s heart—a fractured mirror—quivers, its remaining shards teetering on the edge of collapse. “Stand down, Jarek,” I growl, circling him. “This isn’t you.” “Isn’t it?” He bares his teeth, the corruption snaking up his neck. “You coddled those brats while the pack starved for strength. The Shadow offers what you never could.” The shadow crow croons, its voice harmonizing with the Vei
**Selene’s POV** The water is ice and fire, clawing at my skin as I’m dragged deeper. My glow flickers, struggling against the suffocating darkness. The golden shard gleams below, its light distorted by the rippling surface. “Let go!” I scream, kicking at the clawed hand gripping my ankle. The creature—half shadow, half memory—turns, its face a grotesque mockery of Zara’s. *“You cannot mend what you refuse to face,”* it hisses. I focus on the bond, on Silas’s frantic presence. *“I’m here,”* I whisper, though the water steals my voice. The golden crow’s cry pierces the depths. *“Remember.”* --- **Silas’s Desperation** The lake’s surface freezes over the moment Selene disappears. I slam my fists against the ice, the scar on my chest burning. “Selene!” The golden crow lands beside me, its gold eye dim. *“The Veil tests her. You must face your own trial.”* “I’m not leaving her!” *“You must,”* it insists. *“Or you’ll both be lost.”* The ice cracks beneath my hands,
**Silas’s POV** The tomb’s explosion leaves a ringing silence. Smoke and shards of the mirror hang suspended in the air, glinting like frozen stars. My scar burns, a molten brand searing through muscle and bone. Zara’s voice lingers in my skull, a ghostly echo. *“Courage, Silas. Not for you—for them.”* The crow’s split forms hover above the chaos—one a writhing mass of shadow and feathers, the other a radiant silhouette of starlight. Their twin gazes lock onto me, one accusing, one pleading. Selene staggers to my side, her glow fractured. “What did you do?” “I… don’t know.” The suspended shards quiver. Then, like a breath exhaled, they surge outward. --- **Ryland’s POV** The blast flings me into the tomb’s wall. Stone cracks beneath my spine, but I’m on my feet in an instant. “Selene! Silas!” The twins stand at the epicenter, unharmed but haloed in a corona of light and shadow. Around them, the pack scrambles—Jarek cursing as a shard slices his arm, Kieran dragging a
**Silas’s POV** The crow perches on the charred remains of the sacred oak, its mismatched eyes piercing the twilight. Violet and gold—corruption and something else, something that claws at my chest where the scar lies dormant. I press a hand to it, the skin cold and taut. *“You feel it, don’t you?”* The voice is softer now, a serpentine whisper instead of a roar. *“The fracture. The choice.”* “Shut up,” I mutter, turning away. But the crow’s gaze follows, relentless. Selene finds me at the forest’s edge, her glow dimmed by exhaustion. “You’re hiding again.” I don’t answer. The scar throbs, a silent warning. --- **Ryland’s Dilemma** The pack council fractures like rotten wood. Jarek stands before the gathered wolves, his axe slung over his shoulder. “We buried Mara. We bled for the tomb. And what do we have? A bird and a scar.” Ryland’s growl silences the murmurs. “We have survival. Or would you prefer the Shadow’s chains?” “I’d prefer a leader who doesn’t gamble ou
**Silas’s POV** The Shadow’s new form looms over me, a grotesque fusion of matted fur and glistening feathers. His violet eyes burn like twin pyres, and his talons—half claw, half bone—scrape against the tomb’s stone floor. The air reeks of decay, the Veil’s corrupted energy thickening until I can barely breathe. *“You should have knelt,”* the Shadow hisses, his voice a chorus of caws and snarls. *“Now you’ll die as your mother did—alone.”* My scar flares, a searing reminder of Zara’s sacrifice. I clutch my chest, gritting my teeth against the pain. “I’m *never* alone.” Her voice whispers through the tomb, faint but unyielding. *“Use the bond, Silas. Trust her.”* I close my eyes and reach for Selene. --- **Selene’s POV** Kieran’s blade trembles against my throat, his breath ragged. The rot has spread up his arms, blackening his veins. “Fight him, Kieran!” I plead. “You’re stronger than this!” His pupils flicker—brown, then violet. *“He’s… gone…”* The roots surging
**Silas’s POV** The pyre’s smoke curls into the dawn sky, carrying the acrid stench of betrayal. Mara’s ashes mingle with the frost, but the pack’s eyes linger on me—not with reverence, but fear. My scar pulses faintly, a reminder of the Shadow’s whispers that still snake through my dreams. “You’re staring again,” Selene murmurs, her glow dimmed by exhaustion. I rip my gaze from the crow perched atop the charred remains of the sacred oak. Its violet eye glints, unblinking. “It’s watching us.” “It’s just a bird,” she says, but her trembling hands betray her doubt. The crow caws, sharp and mocking, before vanishing into the mist. --- **Ryland’s Burden** The pack gathers in the hollow, their murmurs a storm of grief and suspicion. Jarek stands apart, sharpening his axe with deliberate slowness. “Mara’s betrayal doesn’t erase her years of loyalty,” Ryland declares, his voice raw. “We mourn her. Then we rebuild.” “Rebuild *what*?” a young warrior snaps. “The rot’s back.