Thorold’s POVI didn’t run,Not at first.I stood still, back pressed against a pine tree, heart hammering so loud I thought it might give me away.The forest was unnaturally quiet.Even the crickets had gone silent.My eyes adjusted slowly. The three figures beyond the ridge hadn't moved. Their cloaks rippled in the wind, pale moonlight outlining their shapes—tall, lean, cold.Council wolves or instructors but Assassins.I didn’t wait for them to step forward.I turned and ran.Branches whipped against my arms and face as I sprinted through the trees, my boots slamming against the dirt. I didn’t shift—not yet. I needed my hands. My balance. My senses.Behind me, I heard nothing.No breathing.No footsteps.But I knew they were there.They’re trained to hunt you, I reminded myself. This isn’t a spar. This is survival.Every path I took, they would predict.Every move I made, they would follow.So I did the one thing they wouldn’t expect.I stopped.I dropped to one knee in a clearing a
Thorold’s POV The land changed as I neared the Hollow. The trees grew darker, thicker. The air itself felt older. It pressed against my skin like breath — warm one moment, icy the next. Even the wind whispered differently here. Not in words, but in *warnings*. No birds. No beasts. Just silence… and that strange, pulsing energy that had called to me days ago. I didn’t know how long I’d been running. Time blurred after the first ridge. Every step had been pure instinct. Toward something I didn’t understand, but *needed* to. The path wasn’t marked. No signs. No roads. Just a sense that I was being led. Nudged by the forest itself. And then, just before sunrise, I saw it. Black Hollow, It wasn’t a city but It wasn’t a village. It was a wound in the world. The trees opened into a wide basin, as if the land had once collapsed inward. The center pulsed with low, steady magic — old and deep. Around it, stone towers rose like fingers from the earth, twisted and half-ruined, overgrown
Zara’s POV I had never seen Ryker like this. Silent. But not calm. He rode like a blade unsheathed — too sharp to be ignored, too dangerous to approach. The last time I saw him this still, there was blood in his fur and fire in his eyes. He hadn’t spoken since we crossed the northern ridge, where Seris told us the truth. Thorold had escaped. Not fled. Not rebelled. He had been **hunted**. And survived. Now he was in a place neither of us had seen in over two decades. A place buried under ancient law and deeper magic. Ryker finally spoke when the forest began to change. “He’s here,” he said hoarsely. I felt it too. The way the wind shifted. The hum beneath our wolves’ paws. The pulse of something ancient threading the air like a second heartbeat. Our son was here. And he was waking into something the world hadn’t seen in centuries. The entrance was subtle. Not a gate or a tower — but a twisted arch of stone and woven vine, hidden in the roots of a black wi
Zara’s POV The path out of Black Hollow was steep. Too steep. Every step away from him felt like betrayal. Ryker didn’t speak for the first hour. Neither did I. What could we say? What words could soften the truth that once again, we were walking away from our son? Except this time, it was his choice. This time, we weren’t the ones who had to make the sacrifice. He was. And we had to live with it. I rode just behind Ryker, watching the way his shoulders stayed stiff beneath his cloak, the way his hands clenched the reins too tightly. He was unraveling quietly — the way only he could. Not in rage or tears. But in the way he wouldn’t look back. Not once. “He’s stronger now,” I said finally, needing to fill the silence with something that didn’t ache. “You saw it. He’s not lost.” Ryker didn’t answer right away. Then: “He was always strong. We just never gave him the space to find it.” I swallowed hard. “You blame us?” “I blame the world,” he said. “And maybe myself. A lit
Thorold’s POV Black Hollow did not train warriors. It unraveled them thread by thread—until only the raw core remained. Then, and only then, did it start to rebuild. The first time I stepped into the Circle’s sanctum, I felt like the air itself rejected me. Every breath was too sharp, like drawing in starlight and thorns. The stone beneath my feet hummed with something… aware. I could feel it moving beneath the surface, ancient and watching. Elyra, the woman with gold eyes and a voice like midnight wind, stood waiting at the center of the sanctum. Around her, runes pulsed in a rhythm I couldn’t hear but could feel echoing in my bones. “You’ll need to let go of everything you think you know,” she said, her gaze piercing but not unkind. “Your name. Your blood. Even your wolf.” I swallowed hard. “Why?” “Because the Veil doesn’t care about legacies. It only listens to balance. You can’t touch it while clinging to who you were.” I nodded. I wasn’t sure I understood her. But I kne
Thorold’s POV The Hollow was quieter now, too quiet. It wasn’t just my paranoia. The wolves around me—once watchful but warm—had grown colder. Eyes that used to greet mine now slid past. Conversations stopped when I entered a room. And the wind carried whispers I wasn’t meant to hear. “He wasn’t meant to see that vision.” “He touched the Threadstream too soon.” “If he fractures, the Hollow falls with him.” Elyra had assured me everything was fine. That I was progressing faster than expected. But progress shouldn’t feel like isolation. I wasn’t just training anymore. I was being observed. I was summoned to the outer ring for a new lesson—one I hadn’t heard of before. Elyra didn’t meet me. Instead, I was met by a Guardian named Maelen. Tall. Silent. Eyes like winter steel. He gave no instructions. Just gestured for me to follow. We moved through unfamiliar paths, deeper into the Hollow’s roots. Into the dark. “Where are we going?” I asked. He didn’t respond. When we st
Thorold’s POV The blade at my throat was cold. Not just in temperature — it carried the chill of betrayal. It was the kind of cold that sinks into your skin, slides down into your bones, and makes you wonder if everything you’ve known was a lie. The face behind the blade was shadowed at first. But the voice? I knew it. “Lira,” I said quietly. “Why?” She didn’t flinch. Didn’t try to lie. Her grip on the dagger remained steady, her expression unreadable. “You were never supposed to get this far,” she said. “You were meant to burn out — like the others.” I blinked. “Others?” She hesitated. For just a breath. And in that pause, I saw her for what she really was. Not just a spy, but just a traitor. “The Council sent you,” I said. “To what? Watch me? Report on me? Kill me if I crossed a line?” “Yes,” she said. “But that’s not all.” The blade didn’t move. “Then what?” She stepped back slightly. Not lowering the knife — but giving us both room to breathe. “I was born in a
Zara’s POV The bell rang just after dawn. It wasn’t a warning bell or a ceremonial chime — it was the ancient bell built into Stormfang’s oldest watchtower. A relic of the first Luna, meant only to sound when the veil between worlds trembled. It hadn’t rung in over two hundred years. Until now. I froze where I stood, halfway down the corridor toward the infirmary. The sound pierced through my bones like a forgotten memory coming back to life. Ryker was already moving when I turned the corner. “You felt it,” he said. Not a question. I nodded, one hand on my chest. “It was him.” He didn’t ask how I knew. We both did. The Pulse of Power Throughout the packlands, wolves dropped what they were doing. Warriors emerged from training grounds, scholars abandoned scrolls, and pups looked skyward like they sensed something bigger than themselves had awakened. A pulse of magic had torn through the air — not violent, not chaotic. But final. As if a seal had broken.
Thorold’s POV We were three days from moving when the first arrow fell. It landed at the edge of Black Hollow’s northern cliffs—no message, no warning. Just flame. A Council mark, scorched into the shaft. They weren’t coming. They were **already here**. I stood with Kael at the watch post when the second wave hit. Not arrows this time—but mist. Thick, black, rolling like a storm tide, choking the trees below the ridge. Lira appeared moments later, breathless. “Scouts aren’t returning from the frostwood. They're being pulled—one by one—into the fog.” “Magic?” I asked. She nodded. “Blood-bound.” “Council-grade?” “Yes.” Kael’s claws extended instinctively. “They’re cloaking their army.” “No,” I said, my voice low. “They’re cloaking something worse.” We had to move. The command hall shook with urgency. Maps unrolled. Wards lit. Spells drawn into the air like threads across time. Elyra stood at the center, calm, but I could see the tension in her shoulders. The Council had n
Thorold’s POV I’d been told once that war didn’t begin with a blade. It began with whispers. Black Hollow was quiet now, but not calm. Since Maelen’s exile, the atmosphere had shifted. Wolves no longer trained with focus. Conversations felt heavier, looks lasted longer. It wasn’t fear anymore—it was expectation. Everyone waiting to see what I would do next. I wasn’t sure what they saw when they looked at me. A leader? A threat? A weapon they hoped would turn toward their enemies and not their homes? I stood at the center of the Basin, alone. The runes in the stone pulsed beneath my feet, sensing the change. The Veil, too, knew something was coming. And it was coming fast. Behind me, Lira approached in silence. “They’re gathering near the southern ridge,” she said. “Elyra says the Hollow has never seen so many wolves ready for battle.” “They’re not ready for what’s coming,” I murmured. She stepped beside me, her voice low. “Neither are we.” We both looked out toward the wood
(Zara’s POV) The wind had changed. I felt it the moment I stepped outside the Stormfang manor — the bite in the air, the tension in the leaves, like the trees themselves were holding their breath. Something had shifted. No messages. No messengers. Just instinct. Just a mother’s bond. I looked toward the distant north, toward the invisible cradle of Black Hollow, and felt it in my chest — a ripple. Not pain. Not fear. Thorold had done something. Something that would either mark the beginning of peace… or war. The Warning from the Seer Ryker found me an hour later in the old temple ruins just beyond the training fields. I stood near the worn stone altar, palms pressed against the moss-covered runes. “He’s still alive,” he said quietly. I nodded. “But something’s coming.” Seris arrived soon after. Her silver cloak billowed in the wind that didn’t touch the trees. “I saw fire last night,” she said without preamble. “Not destruction. Not yet. But the kind that signals mov
Thorold’s POV The next morning, the Circle summoned everyone to the Basin. Not just Guardians or Seers, but every wolf, every spellweaver, every outlier who had made their home beneath Black Hollow’s ancient roots. Elyra stood tall at the heart of the circle of stone, her gold eyes sharp but unreadable. I stood beside her, the orb in my pocket pulsing like it was alive. Lira was near the edge, hidden behind two other students. I’d asked her not to stand beside me. Not yet, Not until this ended. Not until I knew who would survive it. Maelen was already there when I arrived — arms crossed, expression carved from stone, a picture of control. He offered me no greeting, no accusation. But his eyes? They knew I knew. Elyra raised her voice, letting it ring across the Basin like a bell. “There has been a fracture in the Hollow,” she said. “A seed of corruption planted where we should have only had sanctuary. This gathering is not a trial of law…” She turned toward me.
Zara’s POV The bell rang just after dawn. It wasn’t a warning bell or a ceremonial chime — it was the ancient bell built into Stormfang’s oldest watchtower. A relic of the first Luna, meant only to sound when the veil between worlds trembled. It hadn’t rung in over two hundred years. Until now. I froze where I stood, halfway down the corridor toward the infirmary. The sound pierced through my bones like a forgotten memory coming back to life. Ryker was already moving when I turned the corner. “You felt it,” he said. Not a question. I nodded, one hand on my chest. “It was him.” He didn’t ask how I knew. We both did. The Pulse of Power Throughout the packlands, wolves dropped what they were doing. Warriors emerged from training grounds, scholars abandoned scrolls, and pups looked skyward like they sensed something bigger than themselves had awakened. A pulse of magic had torn through the air — not violent, not chaotic. But final. As if a seal had broken.
Thorold’s POV The blade at my throat was cold. Not just in temperature — it carried the chill of betrayal. It was the kind of cold that sinks into your skin, slides down into your bones, and makes you wonder if everything you’ve known was a lie. The face behind the blade was shadowed at first. But the voice? I knew it. “Lira,” I said quietly. “Why?” She didn’t flinch. Didn’t try to lie. Her grip on the dagger remained steady, her expression unreadable. “You were never supposed to get this far,” she said. “You were meant to burn out — like the others.” I blinked. “Others?” She hesitated. For just a breath. And in that pause, I saw her for what she really was. Not just a spy, but just a traitor. “The Council sent you,” I said. “To what? Watch me? Report on me? Kill me if I crossed a line?” “Yes,” she said. “But that’s not all.” The blade didn’t move. “Then what?” She stepped back slightly. Not lowering the knife — but giving us both room to breathe. “I was born in a
Thorold’s POV The Hollow was quieter now, too quiet. It wasn’t just my paranoia. The wolves around me—once watchful but warm—had grown colder. Eyes that used to greet mine now slid past. Conversations stopped when I entered a room. And the wind carried whispers I wasn’t meant to hear. “He wasn’t meant to see that vision.” “He touched the Threadstream too soon.” “If he fractures, the Hollow falls with him.” Elyra had assured me everything was fine. That I was progressing faster than expected. But progress shouldn’t feel like isolation. I wasn’t just training anymore. I was being observed. I was summoned to the outer ring for a new lesson—one I hadn’t heard of before. Elyra didn’t meet me. Instead, I was met by a Guardian named Maelen. Tall. Silent. Eyes like winter steel. He gave no instructions. Just gestured for me to follow. We moved through unfamiliar paths, deeper into the Hollow’s roots. Into the dark. “Where are we going?” I asked. He didn’t respond. When we st
Thorold’s POV Black Hollow did not train warriors. It unraveled them thread by thread—until only the raw core remained. Then, and only then, did it start to rebuild. The first time I stepped into the Circle’s sanctum, I felt like the air itself rejected me. Every breath was too sharp, like drawing in starlight and thorns. The stone beneath my feet hummed with something… aware. I could feel it moving beneath the surface, ancient and watching. Elyra, the woman with gold eyes and a voice like midnight wind, stood waiting at the center of the sanctum. Around her, runes pulsed in a rhythm I couldn’t hear but could feel echoing in my bones. “You’ll need to let go of everything you think you know,” she said, her gaze piercing but not unkind. “Your name. Your blood. Even your wolf.” I swallowed hard. “Why?” “Because the Veil doesn’t care about legacies. It only listens to balance. You can’t touch it while clinging to who you were.” I nodded. I wasn’t sure I understood her. But I kne
Zara’s POV The path out of Black Hollow was steep. Too steep. Every step away from him felt like betrayal. Ryker didn’t speak for the first hour. Neither did I. What could we say? What words could soften the truth that once again, we were walking away from our son? Except this time, it was his choice. This time, we weren’t the ones who had to make the sacrifice. He was. And we had to live with it. I rode just behind Ryker, watching the way his shoulders stayed stiff beneath his cloak, the way his hands clenched the reins too tightly. He was unraveling quietly — the way only he could. Not in rage or tears. But in the way he wouldn’t look back. Not once. “He’s stronger now,” I said finally, needing to fill the silence with something that didn’t ache. “You saw it. He’s not lost.” Ryker didn’t answer right away. Then: “He was always strong. We just never gave him the space to find it.” I swallowed hard. “You blame us?” “I blame the world,” he said. “And maybe myself. A lit