Zara’s POV The city rises from the horizon like a mirage, its spires glinting under a sun that feels too gentle, too kind, after the horrors we’ve survived. Selene’s weight in my arms is a fragile reminder of how close we came to losing her. Her silver veins pulse faintly beneath her skin, a map of secrets I can’t decipher. Ryland walks beside me, his broken hand cradled to his chest, his jaw set in that stubborn way that means he’s biting back pain. Silas trails behind, his shadows coiled tight around his small frame, eyes darting like he expects the Architect to claw back from the dirt. *We’re alive*, I tell myself. *That’s enough for now.* But the quiet part of me, the part that remembers the Goddess’s whispers and the Veil’s collapse, knows better. --- The city gates loom ahead, wrought iron twisted into shapes that make my wolf uneasy—serpents with too many eyes, wolves with wings, humans with hollow faces. A guard steps forward, his armor etched with symbols that mirror
Zara’s POV When I wake, the world is noise. Machines shriek. Voices overlap. My veins hum with a foreign electricity, a current that doesn’t belong to me. The Architect’s laughter coils in my mind, lazy and venomous. ***Welcome back, little wolf. Did you miss me?*** I bolt upright, gasping. The room spins—a sterile, silver-lit chamber filled with screens flickering runes I shouldn’t understand but *do*. Councilor Veyra stands at the center, her goggles cracked, barking orders at panicked attendants. “Mom!” Selene crashes into me, her arms wrapping tight around my neck. Her skin is warm, her light dim but steady. No silver veins. *Thank the moon.* Silas hovers behind her, shadows writhing at his feet. “You’re… *glowing*,” he whispers. I look down. My hands shimmer faintly, threads of silver weaving under my skin. The Architect’s mark. Ryland grips my shoulder, his touch anchoring me. “How do you feel?” *Like a lit fuse.* “Fine,” I lie. Veyra whirls, her voice sh
Zara’s POV The void isn’t empty. It’s full. Full of whispers that aren’t voices. Full of colors that aren’t light. Full of a pressure that isn’t air. It presses against me, through me, as if I’m the ghost here, not this place. My body feels distant, untethered—a marionette with its strings cut. But my mind… my mind is a storm. You’re awake. The voice is mine, but warped. Cold. I recoil, but there’s nowhere to go. The void stretches endlessly, a canvas of nothing that somehow *watches*. “Where are you?” I demand. Where you left me.The voice drips with mock sweetness. ***In the cracks. In the quiet. In you. Silver threads bloom under my skin, glowing brighter as panic surges. The Architect’s corruption. His final gift. Don’t fight it***, my voice purrs. It’s easier if you don’t fight. “Get out of my head.” ***But we’re having so much fun.*** The void twists. Memories flash—Ryland’s arms around me, Silas’s laugh, Selene’s tiny hands braiding wildflowers into my hair.
Zara’s POV The meadow is too quiet. No birdsong. No rustle of wind through the wildflowers. Just the four of us, huddled in the aftermath of a victory that feels hollow. Ryland’s arm is slung around my shoulders, his grip tight, as if I might dissolve into the grass. Silas sits cross-legged nearby, his shadows coiled like restless serpents. Selene leans against me, her small hand pressed to my chest, her light a fragile pulse against the silver poison still threading my veins. “It’s still there,” she whispers. “The bad thing.” I don’t need to look down to know she’s right. The flowers around us are dead, their petals shriveled and blackened in a perfect circle where my hands had clawed the earth. The Architect’s final laugh lingers in my mind, a thorn I can’t pluck out. Ryland’s voice is gravel. “We need to move. This place isn’t safe.” “Where?” Silas mutters, kicking at a charmed blade of grass. “Back to the creepy city? That lady tried to turn Mom into a bomb.” “Veyra k
Zara’s POV The city screams. Or maybe it’s me. Smoke chokes the air, thick with the stench of burnt ozone and crumbling stone. My ears ring from the explosion, my vision swimming as I stagger to my feet. Ryland’s arm wraps around my waist, hauling me upright before I faceplant into the rubble. “Move!” he barks, shoving Silas and Selene ahead of us. “*Now!*” The Architect’s shadow looms above the city, a living tempest of ink and teeth. It peels back the sky, the Veil’s fragile threads snapping like cobwebs. Buildings dissolve as it passes, reduced to ash and memory. The ground quakes, fissures splitting the streets, and for a heartbeat, I see *through* the world—into the void, into the Architect’s grinning abyss. ***Run, little wolf***, his voice purrs in my skull. ***You’ll die tired.*** “Mom!” Silas grabs my hand, his shadows lashing at the debris raining down. “This way!” We bolt down an alley, the shadow’s roar shaking the earth. Selene stumbles, her light flickering.
Zara’s POV The rain falls in silver sheets, stinging my skin like needles. Each droplet hisses where it lands, searing the meadow’s grass into blackened scars. Ryland’s arms tighten around me, his warmth a fleeting comfort against the cold radiating from the shard lodged in my 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 I push his hands away. “It won’t help.” The shard isn’t just in me—it’s part of me now, its crystalline edges fused to bone and sinew. I can 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 her palm to the
Zara’s POV The twins’ power is a wildfire in my veins—beautiful, brutal, *theirs*—but it’s not enough. I can feel the Architect’s poison slithering deeper, a serpent coiling around my spine. My body flickers like a dying star, half here, half *there*, the Veil’s static clawing at the edges of my 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 my chest where the shard once lived. “I’m trying,” I rasp, but the words dissolve into static. Ryland’s grip on my 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 mine, not the Architect’s. *Hers.* The spectral army crests the horizon, a legion of distortions wearing our faces. There’s a Ryland with hollow eyes and jagged claws, a Silas whose shadows writhe with serpents, a Selene whose light bleeds black. And leading th
Zara’s POV The Architect’s true form looms over the meadow, a writhing mass of silver veins and shattered bone. Its presence is a weight, pressing down on my chest, on my soul. The Veil’s song fractures, its melody discordant, its rhythm faltering. The twins cling to me, their combined light and shadow flickering weakly. Ryland stands at my side, his wolf snarling, but even he looks small against the monstrosity before us. “What do we do?” Silas whispers, his shadows trembling. I don’t have an answer. The shard is gone, the poison in my veins a ticking bomb. The Architect’s voice echoes in my mind, faint but persistent. ***You can’t win***, he croons. ***But you can join me.*** “Never,” I mutter. The Architect’s form shifts, tendrils of silver lashing out. Ryland shoves me aside, taking the brunt of the blow. He crashes into the ground, blood staining his fur. “Ryland!” He shifts back, his face pale but determined. “I’m fine. Focus on *him*.” The Architect laughs, the
**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.