Second Person POV You wake to the scent of pine and cold stone. Your skull throbs, a dull ache radiating from the base of your neck to your temples. The air is sharp, sterile, like the inside of a mountain cave. Your fingers twitch against smooth rock, and when you pry your eyes open, the world is a blur of flickering torchlight and shadows. *Where are they?* Panic claws up your throat before your vision clears. Silas and Selene huddle beside you on a stone slab, their small bodies pressed together like frightened rabbits. Silas’s nose is crusted with dried blood, his eyes half-lidded and glassy. Selene trembles, her fingers tangled in your sleeve. Alive. They’re alive. “Mommy,” Selene whispers, her voice cracking. “The scary lady’s here.” You follow her gaze. The woman stands at the mouth of the chamber, her white hair cascading over shoulders draped in wolf pelts the color of fresh snow. Her eyes—pale blue, fractured like ice—bore into you. Behind her, two massive wolves
Second Person POV The door seals with a hollow *thud*, trapping you in a tomb of ice. Torchlight dances across the chamber’s frosted walls, glinting off runes carved so deep they look like scars. Silas presses against your leg, his breath fogging the air. Selene clutches your hand, her fingers trembling. “It’s cold,” she whispers. You kneel, pulling both twins into your arms. Their small bodies shudder against you. “I know,” you murmur, though the chill has little to do with the temperature. The Northern Ridge woman’s words coil in your mind like poison. *Destiny. Sacrifice. The Veil.* You’ve bargained with wolves before. This time, you’re not sure you’ll walk away. The door groans open. The white-haired woman strides in, flanked by two guards carrying braziers of smoldering herbs. The scent—sharp, medicinal—burns your throat. “It’s time,” she says. You stand, shielding the twins. “What exactly are you going to do to them?” She tilts her head, her ice-chip eyes narrowing.
Second Person POV Zane’s grin slices through the rain like a blade. His wolves fan out behind him, eyes glowing amber in the storm-darkened woods. The air reeks of wet earth and iron, the downpour plastering your hair to your face, your clothes to your skin. Silas clutches your leg, his breath hitching. Selene presses into Ryland’s side, her tiny fingers digging into his bandages. “You’re persistent,” you spit, shifting slightly to shield the twins. “Like a roach.” He laughs, the sound swallowed by thunder. “And you’re predictable. Always playing the hero.” His gaze flicks to the twins. “But heroes die. *Mothers* die.” Ryland steps forward, his movements stiff, his voice a ragged growl. “Walk away, Zane. Last warning.” Zane’s smile widens. He snaps his fingers. The wolves attack. You shove the twins behind a moss-crusted boulder, spinning to meet the first wolf. Teeth snap at your throat—you duck, driving your elbow into its ribs. It yelps, but another slams into your sid
Second Person POV The dagger thrums in your grip, its hilt icy against your palm. The Priestess’s shadow coils tighter around Ryland’s heart, his breaths shallow, his eyes locked on yours. *A life for a life.* The twins cling to your legs, their whimpers slicing through the cavern’s eerie silence. **“Choose,”** the Priestess croons, her voice echoing from the walls, the ceiling, the altar’s cursed bones. **“His blood or theirs. The Veil will feast regardless.”** You tighten your hold on the dagger. “There’s always another way.” **“There *is* no other way.”** Her form flickers, tendrils of shadow lashing toward Silas. He screams, golden light erupting from his chest—a defense, a plea. The shadows recoil, hissing. *His power repels them.* Ryland chokes, clawing at his throat. “Zara… don’t—” The Priestess’s laughter grates like stone on steel. **“Sentiment is weakness. You’ll learn.”** You step forward, the dagger raised. “Let. Him. Go.” **“Or what?”** She drifts closer,
Second Person POV You are nowhere. No light. No sound. No heartbeat. Just the echo of your name, distant and warped, like a whisper through water. ***Zara…*** You try to move, but there’s nothing to move *toward*. No body. No breath. Only the cold, gnawing void. ***You were brave.*** The voice isn’t a sound. It’s a vibration, a pulse that reverberates through the nothingness. You recoil—or would, if you had a body. ***Brave… and foolish.*** The void shifts. A figure materializes, her form flickering between human and wolf, her eyes twin galaxies swirling with stars. The Goddess. “Let me go back,” you say—or think. It’s hard to tell here. She tilts her head, her gaze piercing. ***You made a bargain. Your life for theirs. The Veil is sealed. Why return?*** “They’re my family.” ***They are the Chosen. Their path is greater than your love.*** Rage flares, hot and sudden. “They’re *children*.” The Goddess steps closer, her presence crushing. ***And
Second Person POV The temple’s power thrums in your veins like a second heartbeat, dark and discordant. You flex your fingers, watching shadows coil around them like serpents. The dagger is gone, but its hunger remains—a hollow, gnawing void in your chest. *You* are the blade now. “Mommy…?” Selene’s voice is small, trembling. You turn, and she flinches. Her fear stings sharper than any claw. “It’s still me,” you say, but the words echo strangely, layered with the Goddess’s resonance. Silas steps forward, his chin jutted in defiance, but his eyes betray him. “You’re not you. Your eyes are *black*.” Ryland grips his shoulder, pulling him back. “Give her space.” *Space.* You almost laugh. The temple’s walls pulse around you, ancient stone breathing in time with your corrupted soul. There is no space here. Only the dagger’s whispers, the Goddess’s promises. ***They fear you. They should.*** “Stop,” you mutter, pressing your palms to your temples. Ryland moves closer, hi
Second Person POV You wake to the taste of iron and damp earth. Cold stone presses into your back, your wrists raw from rope bindings. The air reeks of mildew and blood. Zane’s voice slithers through the dark before you see him. “Welcome back, darling. Miss me?” He leans against the wall of the cramped cellar, a lantern dangling from his grip. The light paints his face in jagged shadows, his smirk sharp enough to cut. You strain against the ropes, but the dagger’s void in your chest lies dormant, smothered by something—*someone*—else’s doing. “What did you do to me?” you rasp. “A little herbal cocktail,” he says, tapping a vial at his belt. “Temporarily numbs magic. Even yours.” His gaze flicks to your chest, where the Goddess’s whispers once thrived. “Don’t worry. It’ll wear off… just in time for the ritual.” *Ritual.* The word coils like a snake in your gut. “What ritual?” He crouches, his breath hot on your face. “The one where you rip open the Veil for good. No more h
Second Person POV You are weightless. Unmoored. The dagger’s hilt is still lodged in your chest, but there’s no pain—only a hollow, echoing silence. The Goddess’s voice surrounds you, suffocating and sweet. **You cannot escape me here**, she croons. **This is where you belong. Where you’ve always belonged.** Darkness peels back layer by layer, revealing a vast, starless expanse. The Goddess stands before you, her form shifting—wolf, woman, serpent, storm. Her eyes are voids, her smile a crescent moon. “Let me go back,” you say, but your voice isn’t yours. It’s the dagger’s, the shadows’, *hers*. ***Why?*** She drifts closer, her fingers trailing ice down your arm. ***To watch them die? The Veil is shattered. The abyss devours them as we speak.*** A flick of her wrist, and the void ripples. An image forms: Ryland slumped against a crumbling monolith, his breath shallow. The twins huddle nearby, their hands clasped, light and shadow sputtering weakly around them. The ground be
**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.