THE FOURTH AWAKENS

The firelight in the Hale hearth flickered like a heartbeat, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. Veyra sat cross-legged on the floor, staring into the flames, her fingers absently tracing the hem of her wool cloak. The house was quiet—too quiet. Her father and brother were out on patrol again, and her mother, Maelin, moved silently in the adjoining room, stirring herbs into vials and whispering incantations to ease the lingering illness that still clung to parts of the pack.

But Veyra's silence had nothing to do with the sickness. It had everything to do with the white wolf she saw in her dreams.

The fourth bond had changed something inside her. Rune's touch hadn't just sparked the connection—it had unlocked a deeper part of her soul. Since that moment, her dreams had become a realm of moonlight and magic. Every time she closed her eyes, she found herself standing in a forest of silver trees, her paws—white as fresh snow—crunching softly beneath her. She wasn't just seeing the white wolf. She was the white wolf.

Rune hadn't explained much, but when their fingers brushed during the healer's visit, the bond had been different. Quieter than Kael's fire, calmer than Lioren's ice, and softer than Zevi's playful warmth. Rune's presence had been like a prayer whispered on the wind, a knowing that went deeper than instinct. His eyes had found her like he had always known her. And when he whispered, "You're her," it was not a question. It was a revelation.

Now, the dreams were getting stronger. They left her breathless when she woke, trembling with energy she didn't know how to control. Her magic—because it could only be magic—was beginning to pulse under her skin, lighting up her veins with power she didn't understand.

Tonight, she couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Ma," Veyra said, her voice soft, urgent. "I need to talk to you."

Maelin stepped into the room, wiping her hands on a linen cloth. Her long silver-streaked braid was loose tonight, making her look softer than usual. "What is it, little moon?"

"I'm dreaming of her," Veyra whispered. "Of me. The white wolf."

Maelin's smile didn't reach her eyes. She came forward, knelt beside Veyra, and gently touched her cheek. "Tell me everything."

Veyra did. Every silver tree, every howl echoing across dreamscapes. Every surge of power that made her skin hum. She told her mother how it started after Rune. How she began hearing voices—not words, but whispers in her blood. She told her of the pulsing ache in her chest when her mates were near, and how her body no longer felt entirely her own. And then, she said it plainly:

"I know I'm not just different. I know there's something... sacred. Something forbidden."

Maelin's eyes closed, and a tremor passed through her hand.

"You were never meant to stay hidden forever," Maelin murmured, voice catching like a thread pulled too tight. "But I hoped we would have more time."

"More time for what?" Veyra demanded, frustration burning in her chest. "To lie to me? To let me fall into these bonds without knowing what I am?"

"You are my daughter," Maelin said sharply, eyes blazing. "That is what you are."

Veyra's breath hitched. "I'm more than that, aren't I?"

Maelin stood and paced toward the fire. "Yes."

The silence stretched.

"You are the last of the sacred bloodline," she finally said, the words thick with grief. "A descendant of the Moonbound Queens. The white wolf is not a myth, Veyra. She is a symbol, a living weapon, a bridge between the mortal and the divine."

Veyra stared at her mother, heart thudding. "But... I thought she was a legend. Just something from the old scrolls."

"She is legend," Maelin said, looking back at her. "Because we made her one. Because if anyone knew she lived, they would tear the world apart to find her."

The room felt colder suddenly. Veyra stood slowly, trying to process what she was hearing.

"You said I was cursed if I had five mates," she whispered. "That it would bring destruction."

"It's not the number that's cursed," Maelin said, her voice tight with emotion. "It's what it awakens. The five bonds were once a blessing—the Crown of the Moon chose five to protect the white wolf, body and soul. But after the last Moonbound Queen was betrayed, the magic became unstable. Dangerous. Now... five mates tethered to one wolf is seen as unnatural. Too much power in one soul. If the packs find out, they won't just kill you, Veyra. They'll use you. Sacrifice you to prevent the rise of another Queen."

Veyra stumbled backward, her legs finding the edge of the hearthstone bench. "So I'm not just some rare wolf—I'm a target."

Maelin's eyes shone with unshed tears. "You are hope, child. But hope is always feared before it is understood."

Veyra clutched her chest. "And my mates? They don't even know—"

"They know you're special," Maelin said, crossing to her. "But not why. And that is a truth we must guard. Even from them."

Veyra's thoughts were a storm—Kael's fire, Lioren's frost, Zevi's warmth, Rune's serenity—they weren't just bonds. They were pieces of something ancient being reforged.

"What about Rune?" she asked quietly. "He knew. He didn't even ask. He just... knew."

Maelin nodded. "Rune is more than he appears. Omegas have long been guardians of lore. He's touched by the divine, same as you."

Veyra sat down heavily. "This is too much. I didn't ask for any of this."

"I know," Maelin said softly. "But the Moon chose you anyway."

Veyra pressed her palms into her eyes. "What happens when I meet the fifth?"

Maelin hesitated. "Then the storm truly begins."

Outside, a gust of wind howled through the trees. The shadows shifted along the walls, and Veyra thought of the dream again—five shadows surrounding her, five colors of eyes glowing in the dark.

She was no longer just a girl in hiding.

She was the last white wolf.

And they were already hunting her.

⸻