Alaric felt the press of Caelen's fingertips through his leather tunic, cold as winter's bone. The ridge beneath them shivered, and snow whispered from the cliff's edge. For a heartbeat, neither spoke. The wind in the valley seemed to hold its breath, as if the very world awaited a flicker of choice between the brothers.
"Mira said you would come," Caelen finally murmured. His voice, once brash and certain, trembled now with an undercurrent of hope and grief. "She saw me in dreams before I ever knew I was alive."
Alaric drew in a breath, fighting the pain that welled in his chest—not from Caelen's touch, but from the memory of how he had let his brother vanish. "Dreams can betray," he said. He tilted his head, fighting tears that would not break free. "I believed you were dead. I failed you long before the Council sealed you in that grave of stone."
Caelen's hand slipped away; his fingers tightened into a fist at his side. "You believed my death freed you. But I was never gone. I only changed. They turned my flesh to ash, but my soul lived in the veins of stone and shadow."
Alaric swallowed hard. "I thought mercy was the highest gift I could give you—that in death you would finally rest."
A flicker of bitter laughter passed Caelen's lips. "Rest—yes, but only from the chains you built. You think you freed me, but you only left me broken: mind unbound, body unmade. The First Moonless claimed me. Showed me our truth: that the world is carved by power, not law. You hid behind shields and statutes. I stand before you reborn, stripped of lies."
Alaric stepped closer until their breath mingled on the cold air. "Then show me that truth. Let me see what the Council refused."
Caelen opened his mouth as if to speak, but the wind seized his words. In the valley below, a torch flared—a signal or a warning, Alaric could not tell. Somewhere deep in the hollow, a distant howl answered. It was neither brother nor pack—something older, keener, rising in the darkness.
Caelen closed his eyes, head tilting back, as if to drink the sound. "They gather, both from fear and devotion. The wolves who do not fit the Council's order come to me. They remember the old moon, before men broke us. They remember the howl that split the sky."
Alaric's eyes glowed silver with unshed tears. "You would build them on my ruination? My failure as your brother? I sent a hunter's arrow through your chest for the Council's sins. Now you offer your strength to every broken soul hungry for vengeance."
Caelen nodded slowly, watching the valley's edge where torches blinked like fireflies in the gloom. "Vengeance is not my gift. But truth is. I give them the choice to see the world without the lies they've been forced to swallow. I give them a howl that cannot be shackled. You choose to spit steel. I choose to speak freedom."
"You speak of freedom," Alaric said, voice cracking, "but all I see is a hunger that will devour us both. What you build on my ashes will burn the world."
"I build nothing," Caelen replied. "I free. The world will burn or bloom depending on its own heart." He pressed his palm against Alaric's chest in a silent plea. "Do you feel it? The old pulse of the moon beneath your ribs? The part of you that cannot be commanded?"
Alaric's heart thundered, as though the centuries of hidden bloodlines had burst free. He knelt before Caelen, placing his own hand over his brother's. "I feel the truth you speak. And I tremble at it. But I also remember the boy who sat by my side beneath the full moon, how we carved our names in the snow and swore we would guard each other against the dark."
Caelen's eyes softened for an instant—the bronze gold of warmth, not shadow. "I remember that night."
"Then show me where the lies begin," Alaric pleaded. "Let me walk beside you, not as an Alpha with a sword, but as a brother who still believes."
A red ember glowed in Caelen's gaze. "Then rise, Alaric. Step from beneath the mantle the Council gave you. Stand in the hollow where names die and rebirth begins."
Alaric rose, drawing the fang-blade from his waist. "I stand with you now. But if your path leads only to ruin, I will be the steel in your blood."
Caelen accepted the blade, his scarred fingers curling around the haft as if greeting an old friend. For a moment, the brothers stood united—two shapes cast in moonlight and shadow, heartbeats echoing in the cold.
"Tonight," Caelen said, "we open the hollow's gates. They will welcome you as Alpha or enemy. Choose your face well."
Alaric nodded, sheath trading places with Caelen, as though offering and accepting the weight of destiny. Then they turned together toward the valley, where the torches now formed a ring of pale fire, and figures emerged through the mists like phantoms made of bone and memory.
The air crackled as Caelen raised his voice—no roar, but a calm summons older than any law.
"Brothers. Sisters. Wolves unloved by the Council. Tonight, we let the world see what names cannot bind. Tonight, we howl for the truth in our blood."
Alaric drew a ragged breath and echoed his brother in a growl that split the hush.
And as their voices rose in tandem—a song of renewal and reckoning—the wolves in the valley answered, howling their ancient promises into the hollow-night.