"That the Dome is not what we've been taught," Nora replied. "It's not a protection... it's a prison. And what lies beyond it is not chaos, but our true potential."
The words should have shocked him, should have registered as dangerous heresy. But in his current state, they simply flowed into his mind, taking root alongside his existing beliefs without conflict.
"And these other fragments?" he asked, gesturing to the cages containing the smaller crystalline growths.
"Seedlings," Nora said. "Pieces that have broken off from the Dome recently, as it weakens. They're still... alive, in a sense. Connected to the greater whole. We're collecting them for study, to better understand the changes that are coming."
It all sounded so reasonable in the moment, so scientific and purposeful rather than illegal and dangerous. Ithor found himself nodding again, the last of his resistance fading.
"I'll help you," he said, the decision feeling both terribly wrong and inexplicably right simultaneously. "There's a path through the eastern valley that the patrols rarely check. It will take you beyond Naruun territory by morning."
Faaron whined, a sound of pure distress that cut through Ithor's mental fog momentarily. The wolf was projecting images into their shared mental space — memories of their years together, of the oath Ithor had taken as a warden, of the sacred trust placed in them by their tribe.
For a moment, Ithor faltered, the bond with his Anirû companion temporarily stronger than whatever influence Nora and the blue fragment were exerting.
Nora noticed his hesitation and frowned. Her gaze shifted to Faaron, and her expression hardened.
"The wolf is a problem," she said, no longer bothering with the friendly pretense. "Its bond with you is interfering with our... arrangement."
She made a subtle gesture, and the Zhyren among the traffickers stepped forward, amber eyes glowing as he prepared to channel elemental magic.
Alarm cut through Ithor's mental fog. "No! Leave Faaron alone. He won't interfere."
But even as he spoke, he could feel Faaron gathering himself to attack, the wolf's protective instincts overriding Ithor's commands. Through their bond came a clear message: She means to separate us, to break our bond. I cannot allow this.
"Restrain the wolf," Nora ordered sharply. "Non-lethally if possible. It's valuable too."
The Zhyren raised his hands, and the earth beneath Faaron's paws suddenly shifted, attempting to trap the wolf's legs. But Faaron was too quick, leaping aside and then lunging toward the elemental mage with teeth bared.
Chaos erupted in the clearing. The Sangor mercenaries drew weapons, the other traffickers scattered for cover, and Nora grabbed the blue fragment from its pedestal, clutching it protectively.
Ithor stood frozen, caught between the magical compulsion still clouding his mind and the desperate need to protect his bonded companion. Through their connection, he could feel Faaron's determination, the wolf's single-minded focus on eliminating the threat to his human.
"Stop him!" Nora shouted as Faaron dodged another elemental attack and closed in on the Zhyren.
One of the Sangor mercenaries drew a crossbow, aiming it at the charging wolf. The sight of the weapon finally broke through Ithor's paralysis.
"Faaron, no!" he cried, both aloud and through their bond, lunging forward to intercept either the wolf or the bolt — he wasn't sure which.
He was too late for both. Faaron's jaws closed around the Zhyren's throat just as the crossbow twanged. The elemental mage fell, blood spurting from his torn jugular, and in the same instant, Faaron yelped in pain as the bolt struck his flank.
Ithor felt the impact as if it had pierced his own body, the shared pain lancing through their bond. But worse than the physical sensation was the sudden knowledge that the bolt had been treated with something — a poison or drug that was rapidly spreading through Faaron's system, dimming the wolf's consciousness.
Ithor... Faaron's mental voice was already fading, the silver thread of their bond flickering like a candle in the wind. Run... trap...
"No!" Ithor reached his companion's side, cradling the wolf's massive head as Faaron's legs buckled. "Stay with me. Fight it!"
But the wolf's eyes were already glazing over, his breathing becoming labored. Whatever coated the bolt was working with terrifying speed.
Around them, the traffickers regrouped, the initial chaos settling as they realized the immediate threat was neutralized. Nora approached cautiously, still clutching the blue fragment, which seemed to pulse in time with Faaron's weakening heartbeat.
"This is unfortunate," she said, though her tone suggested she found it anything but. "The wolf was valuable. But perhaps this is better — a clean break rather than a lingering connection that might have interfered with our work."
"Save him," Ithor demanded, looking up at her with tears streaming down his face. The mental fog had cleared completely now, burned away by the urgent reality of Faaron's condition. "Whatever you want, whatever you need me to do — just save him."
Nora studied him for a moment, then shook her head. "I'm afraid that's not possible. The compound on that bolt was designed specifically for Anirû wolves. There is no antidote."
"You planned this," Ithor realized, rage beginning to replace despair. "You wanted to break our bond."
"It was a contingency," Nora admitted without remorse. "The bond between Naruun and Anirû is powerful — one of the purest connections to the natural magic of Inhevaen. Such connections can be... resistant to certain influences we need to work with."
Ithor barely heard her explanation. His entire being was focused on Faaron, on the rapidly weakening pulse of life he could feel through their bond. The wolf's thoughts were becoming disjointed, fragmentary, but the overwhelming emotion coming through was not fear or pain, but concern — concern for Ithor, for what would happen to him after their bond was severed.
Not your fault, came Faaron's fading thought. Love you, brother-soul.
And then, with a final shuddering breath, the great wolf went still. The silver thread of their bond, which had connected them since Faaron was a pup and Ithor a boy of twelve, stretched thin, vibrated like a plucked string, and snapped.
The pain was indescribable — not physical, but a tearing of the soul, a sudden emptiness where there had always been presence. Ithor threw back his head and howled, a sound of pure anguish that echoed through the forest, sending night birds scattering from the trees in alarm.
In that moment of overwhelming grief, something unexpected happened. As the bond between Ithor and Faaron severed, there was a flash of silver light, and for just an instant, Ithor saw — or thought he saw — Faaron's spirit rise from his body. Not departing for whatever afterlife awaited Anirû souls, but hovering, watching, as if reluctant to leave despite the broken bond.
Then the vision was gone, and Ithor was left holding the cooling body of his companion, surrounded by traffickers who had just destroyed his world.
Nora was watching him with clinical interest, the blue fragment in her hands pulsing more rapidly now. "Fascinating," she murmured. "The bond is broken, yet something remains. A residual connection, perhaps."
Ithor looked up at her, his grief momentarily eclipsed by a rage so pure it felt like fire in his veins. "I'll kill you for this," he promised, his voice a guttural growl that barely sounded human. "I'll hunt you to the ends of Inhevaen."
Nora seemed unperturbed by the threat. "You'll try," she agreed. "But first, you'll need to survive the next few minutes." She glanced over his shoulder, a small smile playing at her lips. "Your howl was quite impressive. I believe it's attracted some attention."
Ithor became aware of sounds in the forest behind him — the rapid approach of multiple individuals moving with purpose through the undergrowth. The Naruun patrol, responding to his cry of anguish.
Under normal circumstances, this would have been a relief — reinforcements arriving to help apprehend the traffickers. But Ithor suddenly understood with perfect clarity what Nora had orchestrated. The patrol would arrive to find a dead Zhyren, a dead Anirû wolf, and a Naruun warden in the company of illegal traffickers. The conclusion would be obvious.
"You set me up," he said, the full extent of the trap finally clear. "You used some kind of magic to lure me here, to make me agree to help you, knowing the patrol would find us."
"Not just any magic," Nora replied, holding up the blue fragment. "A very special kind, from a very special source. The kind that speaks directly to the deepest parts of your mind, bypassing all those tedious moral constraints." She sighed theatrically. "It would have been cleaner if you'd simply guided us through the forest as agreed. Your wolf complicated things. But this works too — perhaps even better."
The sounds of the approaching patrol were closer now. Ithor had only moments to decide what to do. He could stay, try to explain what had happened, hope that the elders would believe his story of magical compulsion rather than willing betrayal. But looking at Nora's confident expression, he suspected she had ensured that wouldn't happen — perhaps through bribes, or more of her mind-affecting magic.
Or he could run. Abandon Faaron's body, flee into the depths of the forest, become a fugitive from his own people.
Neither option was bearable. But the decision was made for him as the first members of the patrol burst into the clearing, weapons ready, faces transforming from alert readiness to shock as they took in the scene.
"Ithor?" The patrol leader, an older warden named Thalen who had been Ithor's mentor, stared in disbelief. "What have you done?"
Before Ithor could respond, Nora stepped forward, her demeanor suddenly that of a frightened victim rather than a calculating manipulator.
"Thank the Dome you've arrived," she said, her voice trembling perfectly. "We were attacked. This man — " she pointed at Ithor, " — he led us into an ambush. His wolf killed Kiran before we could stop it."
"That's a lie!" Ithor protested, but even as he spoke, he could see the doubt in Thalen's eyes, the willingness to believe the worst of him. And why wouldn't there be? He was found at a trafficker's camp with a dead Zhyren and his own dead wolf — a scenario that made no sense unless he was involved in something illicit.
"Restrain him," Thalen ordered, and two wardens moved forward, their expressions a mixture of anger and betrayal.
Ithor looked down at Faaron's body one last time, memorizing the noble features of his companion, silently promising vengeance for what had been done to them both. Then, with the speed and agility that had made him the tribe's best hunter, he leaped backward, evading the approaching wardens.
"I didn't betray our people," he said, locking eyes with Thalen. "I was used. Manipulated. And I will prove it."
Then he turned and ran, using every trick he had learned in a lifetime in the forest to lose his pursuers. He moved without conscious thought, instinct guiding his steps, grief and rage providing the energy to keep going long after his body should have failed.
By dawn, he had put miles between himself and the clearing where Faaron had died. But the distance did nothing to ease the hollow ache where their bond had been, the phantom pain of a limb severed but still felt.
Ithor collapsed finally at the base of an ancient tree, his strength utterly spent. As consciousness faded, he thought he saw a flicker of silver light beside him — a familiar presence that should have been impossible given the broken bond.
Faaron? he called mentally, reaching out through the emptiness where their connection had been.
There was no answer, no reciprocal thought. But for just a moment, Ithor felt a warmth, a sense of presence that couldn't be explained by normal means. Then it was gone, and he was alone in the vastness of the forest that had once been his home but was now his exile.
His last thought before darkness claimed him was a promise — to himself, to Faaron's memory, and to whatever fragment of the wolf's spirit might still linger:
He would find Nora. He would discover the truth about the blue fragment and whatever conspiracy she served. And he would have justice, no matter how long it took or what it cost him.
The wolf without a pack would hunt alone. But he would hunt nonetheless.