Into the Temple of Howls
The morning light was thin and gray, barely more than a breath against the Blackwood's eternal gloom. Fog clung low to the ground, coiling around the boots of the warriors as they formed ranks around the stone circle. At the center, the staircase yawned open—a jagged wound carved into the earth, ringed with whispering runes and long-cooled scorch marks that hinted at ancient fire.
No one spoke. Not even Caelen, who usually found humor in the gravest of moments, nor Mira, whose dreams had warned of this descent. Silence bound them tighter than steel. Only Alaric stood without hesitation. He looked down into the darkness, his eyes unwavering. He did not flinch as the chill of the passage breathed up to meet him.
"This is not just a descent," Mira murmured behind him, her voice barely above breath. "It's a test."
Alaric gave a single nod. Then he stepped into the dark.
The staircase spiraled downward, each stone slick with age and carved with forgotten glyphs that pulsed faintly as the group passed. The further they descended, the more the air thickened, the walls pulsing as if they inhaled and exhaled with some buried heart.
The Temple was no ruin. It was alive.
After what felt like hours, the passage opened into a vast chamber lit by no torches, yet bathed in a sickly red glow. The ceiling soared beyond sight, held aloft by columns carved to resemble ascending wolves—each one in agony, jaws open in silent howls. At the center of the chamber was a platform, and atop it, an altar formed of polished black bone. It was wet. It breathed.
Mira stepped forward, the dreamwalkers fanning behind her, each chanting under their breath to ward off the encroaching visions. But it was too late. The temple's power was pressing on their minds, offering hallucinations so seductive they felt real—Ridgefall burning, friends turning traitor, Alaric's body shattered beneath Ironfang blades.
One of the younger seers cried out and fell, clutching her head. Another lashed out blindly, her mind hijacked by implanted fear. Caelen leapt forward and subdued her gently, whispering her name until she blinked back into herself.
Alaric ascended the steps to the altar.
There, carved into the stone, was a name—his. But not as he had ever seen it. It was inscribed in bloodied script, wrapped in a prophecy written in the Old Tongue:
"The blood that broke the moon shall one day bind it."
He turned back to Mira. "This temple knows me."
"It was built around your legacy," she answered. "Or what they feared you would become."
A sound echoed through the chamber—a voice, feminine and layered, like a chorus from different ages. "Welcome, Firstborn."
She stepped from the shadows. Her body shimmered between forms—woman, wolf, something larger and serpentine. Her eyes glowed, not with light, but with the memory of stars long gone. Her presence was impossible to define; she was beautiful, terrible, familiar.
Alaric clenched his fists. "You made the creature in the woods. You've been sending the visions. Why?"
The woman smiled. "Because you were meant to fall, Alaric. Your rebirth was unnatural. You defied the laws we left behind. The world must return to its original balance. You are the rupture."
Mira stepped between them, hands glowing with warding magic. "And you think playing god gives you the right?"
"I was a god," she replied, voice thunderous. "Once. And I will be again."
The ground shook. The temple groaned.
Statues along the walls cracked, revealing bound monstrosities—twisted wereforms held in stasis. Half-man, half-shadow, they began to stir.
"She's been building an army," Caelen muttered. "An army of broken blood."
"No," Mira said. "She's been gathering versions—twisted reflections of us from dream-realms. This is more than war. This is a reckoning across realities."
Alaric raised his voice. "You want me broken? You want the world bent beneath your will?"
He stepped forward, drawing his blade.
"Then let the temple remember who I am."
With a roar, the temple surged with light and shadow. Warriors clashed with nightmares, seers held the dreamlines steady, and Mira and Alaric pushed forward through the chaos to confront the woman behind it all.