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
Second Person POV The rain falls in silver sheets, stinging your skin like needles. Each droplet hisses where it lands, searing the meadow’s grass into blackened scars. Ryland’s arms tighten around you, his warmth a fleeting comfort against the cold radiating from the shard lodged in your chest. It pulses in time with the Veil’s dissonant hum, a reminder that the fight isn’t over. “We need to bind the wound,” Ryland says, his voice frayed. He rips a strip from his shirt, but you push his hands away. “It won’t help.” The shard isn’t just in you—it’s part of you now, its crystalline edges fused to bone and sinew. You feel the Architect’s poison simmering beneath the surface, a dormant storm. Silas crouches nearby, shadows pooling at his feet like ink. “The rain… it’s *changing* things.” He’s right. The droplets aren’t just burning the grass—they’re warping it. Flowers twist into grotesque shapes, stems knotting into serpents that writhe before crumbling to ash. Selene presses h
Second Person POVThe twins’ power is a wildfire in your veins—beautiful, brutal, *theirs*—but it’s not enough. You feel the Architect’s poison slithering deeper, a serpent coiling around your spine. Your body flickers like a dying star, half here, half *there*, the Veil’s static clawing at the edges of your vision. “Mom, stay with us!” Silas’s voice is sharp, frantic. His shadows fuse with Selene’s light, their combined energy pressing against the hollow in your chest where the shard once lived. “I’m trying,” you rasp, but the words dissolve into static. Ryland’s grip on your hand tightens, his warmth a tether. “Look at me,” he growls, his face gaunt, his eyes blazing gold. “You don’t get to quit.” A laugh ripples through the meadow—not yours, not the Architect’s. *Hers.* The spectral army crests the horizon, a legion of distortions wearing your faces. There’s a Ryland with hollow eyes and jagged claws, a Silas whose shadows writhe with serpents, a Selene whose light bleeds b
*Zara’s POV The ground beneath me is cold and unfamiliar, a jagged slate of obsidian that glimmers faintly under a sky streaked with colors I can’t name. Violet and gold swirl where stars should be, and the air tastes metallic, like blood and lightning. My body aches, every muscle screaming as I push myself up onto my elbows. The twins are curled against me, their small hands still gripping my shirt, their breaths shallow but steady. Alive. *Alive.* “Silas. Selene.” My voice cracks, raw from screaming. I brush Selene’s hair back, my fingers trembling. “Wake up. Please.” Selene stirs first, her lashes fluttering. “Mommy…?” “I’m here.” I pull her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Silas jerks awake beside her, his eyes wide and wild, shadowy tendrils flickering at his fingertips before he blinks them away. “Where are we?” he whispers. “I don’t know.” Ryland’s groan cuts through the silence. He’s sprawled a few feet away, his arm bent at an unnatural angle. Blood stains
**Zara’s POV** The elders’ fortress looms like a skeletal hand clawing at the sky, its black stone walls slick with frost. The air is thin here, each breath sharp as a blade, but the pack presses on. Behind me, warriors from Bloodfang and Shadow territories move in unison, their growls a low, thunderous hymn. Silas and Selene walk at my side, their hands clasped in mine. “Stay close,” I murmur, though I know they won’t. They never do. Selene’s glow pulses faintly, her eyes wide but unflinching. “They’re waiting for us,” she whispers. Silas tightens his grip on my hand. “Let them wait.” Ryland strides ahead, his black fur bristling as he shifts to human form at the base of the fortress. “This ends today,” he says, his voice carrying over the wind. “For our pack. For our future.” The howls that answer shake the earth. ---**Ryland’s POV** The elders’ magic stings the air, a poison that makes my wolf snarl. They stand atop the fortress, cloaked in shadows, their chants we
**Zara’s POV** The northern mountains loom in the distance, their jagged peaks cutting into the sky like broken teeth. The air is colder here, sharper, and the scent of pine and snow does little to mask the underlying tension in the pack. We’ve been traveling for days, following Kael’s lead, and every step feels heavier than the last. The twins walk beside me, their small hands clutching mine. Selene hums softly, her glow flickering like a candle in the wind, while Silas scans the horizon with a seriousness far beyond his years. “Mommy,” Selene whispers, tugging at my sleeve. “Do you think the bad men will come tonight?” I force a smile, brushing a curl from her face. “Not if we can help it, sweetheart.” Silas frowns. “But what if they do? What if we’re not ready?” I kneel, pulling them both into a hug. “You’re stronger than you know. Both of you. And we’ll face whatever comes together.” Ryland approaches, his expression grim. “We’ve set up camp ahead. Kael’s scouts have
**Zara’s POV** The morning after the battle, the camp is eerily quiet. The air smells of damp earth and healing herbs, and the wounded wolves rest under the watchful eyes of the healers. Selene sits cross-legged in the center of the clearing, her tiny hands glowing as she mends a warrior’s broken ribs. Silas stands beside her, his arms crossed, his silver eyes scanning the crowd like a miniature Alpha. I watch them from the edge of the clearing, my chest tight with pride and fear. They’re so small, so fragile, and yet they’ve already done more for this pack than I ever could. “They’re remarkable,” Ryland says, appearing beside me. I don’t look at him. “They’re children.” “They’re more than that,” he says, his voice soft. “They’re the future of this pack. And they’re stronger than we give them credit for.” I turn to face him, my anger flaring. “They’re *five*, Ryland. They shouldn’t have to be strong. They shouldn’t have to fight.” He meets my gaze, his gray eyes steady.
**Zara’s POV** The camp erupts into chaos. Wolves snatch weapons, children are herded into the center of the clearing, and the air thickens with the sour tang of fear. Ryland barks orders, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade, but all I hear is the roar of my own pulse. *The rogues are coming. The twins aren’t safe.* I grab Silas and Selene by their wrists, dragging them toward the healer’s tent. “Stay here,” I command, shoving them inside. “Do *not* move.” Silas crosses his arms. “We can fight!” “You’re five years old,” I snap. “Five and a *half*,” Selene corrects, her glow flickering defiantly. “Stay. Put.” I slam the tent flap closed, tying it with a shaking hand. Ryland appears beside me, his face bloodless. “The rogues are closing in. They’ve got wolfsbane arrows.” My stomach plummets. Wolfsbane meant for *children*. For *my* children. “Get them out of here,” I say, my voice cracking. “Take them and run.” He grips my shoulders. “They’ll hunt us. The
Zara’s POVThe scent of ash and iron lingers in the air, a grim reminder of the battle that rewrote our fate. Bloodfang and Shadow wolves move through the clearing like ghosts, their eyes darting to the twins huddled near the fire. Silas pokes at the flames with a stick, his brow furrowed, while Selene hums softly, braiding moonflowers into her hair. Innocence and power, coiled together. Ryland stands at the edge of the clearing, speaking with Kieran and a scarred Shadow wolf I recognize as Jarek—Zane’s former second. My stomach twists. *We’re supposed to trust them now?* “They’re staring again,” Silas mutters, glaring at a group of Bloodfang warriors. “Let them stare,” I say, adjusting the bandage on his scraped knee. “They’re just curious.” “No, they’re *scared*,” he corrects, his voice too sharp for a child’s. “They think we’re monsters.” Selene’s humming stops. “Like the bad men?” “No, sweetheart,” I lie, sweeping her into my lap. “They’re… surprised. That’s all.” Ry
Zara’s POVThe forest explodes in a cacophony of snarls. Shadows burst from the trees—wolves with teeth bared and eyes glowing like embers. My grip tightens on the silver dagger, its hilt biting into my palm. Ryland shifts beside me, his wolf form towering and lethal, but I don’t look at him. I can’t. If I do, I might forget how to hate him. “Stay behind me,” he growls, fur bristling. “I don’t need your orders,” I snap, but the words die as a wolf lunges at us. Ryland intercepts it midair, jaws clamping around its throat. Blood sprays the grass, metallic and sharp. Another wolf darts toward the cottage, and my heart stops. *The twins.* “Silas! Selene!” I scream, sprinting past the fray. The door swings open before I reach it. Silas stands in the doorway, his small frame rigid, eyes blazing an unnatural silver. Behind him, Selene clutches her stuffed wolf, her curls glowing faintly under the moonlight. “Mommy, the bad men are here,” she whispers. “Get back inside—” A snarl
Zara’s POVThe morning sun filters through the curtains, painting the room in streaks of gold, but it does nothing to warm the ice in my veins. I’ve been awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, replaying yesterday’s encounter in the bakery like a cursed film reel. Ryland’s face—haunted, desperate—flashes behind my eyelids every time I blink. *He knows.* The twins’ laughter drifts in from the kitchen, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing, and I press a hand to my chest, willing my heartbeat to slow. “Mommy!” Silas calls, his voice sharp with impatience. “Selene ate the last pancake!” “Did not!” Selene retorts. “You *stabbed* yours with a fork and threw it on the floor!” “Enough,” I say, stepping into the kitchen, my tone sharper than intended. Both freeze, their little faces snapping toward me. Guilt pricks at me as Selene’s lip quivers. I soften my voice. “There’s more batter. I’ll make another batch, okay?” Silas narrows his eyes, a miniature version of *his* skepticism.
Zara’s POVThe air in the room is thick, suffocating, like the weight of every unspoken word between us is pressing down on my chest. Ryland stands in the doorway, his presence as commanding as ever, but there’s something different about him now. His eyes, those piercing gray eyes that once held nothing but cold detachment, are filled with something I can’t quite place. Regret? Longing? Guilt? Whatever it is, it’s enough to make my heart ache in ways I thought I’d buried long ago.“Mommy?” Selene’s voice is small, hesitant, as she tugs at the hem of my apron. “Who is he?”I swallow hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. How do I explain this to them? How do I tell my children that the man standing before us is their father—the man who rejected me, who left me to raise them alone? The man who shattered my heart into a million pieces?“He’s…” I start, but the words catch in my throat. I can’t do it. I can’t say it.Ryland steps forward, his movements slow and deliberate, like he’s afraid of
Zara’s POV The wildflowers die where I walk. It starts as a subtle thing—petals curling at the edges, stems bowing as if in mourning. But by dawn, the meadow is a graveyard of blackened husks, radiating outward from the spot where I slept. Ryland says nothing when he sees it, but his jaw tightens. Silas and Selene pretend not to notice, though their stolen glances betray them. They know. They always know. The Architect is gone, but his poison lingers. It festers beneath my skin, a quiet rot the twins’ light can’t purge. I scrub my hands raw in the creek until my knuckles bleed, but the corruption clings, a stain no water can wash away. “It’s not your fault,” Selene says, crouching beside me. Her reflection in the water wavers, her golden eyes too wise for a child’s face. “Isn’t it?” I flex my fingers, watching the creek’s current curl away from my touch, repelled. “I let him in. I made the choice.” “To save us,” Silas mutters, kicking a pebble into the water. His shadows co