The ride back to the Flameborn camp was tense and silent, their wolves sensing the weight of the air. Storm clouds followed them like a predator's breath, thick and unnatural. The prophecy had been set into motion. The bond, now sealed with ancient rites, throbbed in Aria's chest like a second heartbeat—stronger than before, but also… different.
Every moment, she could feel it pulsing through her—each thread connecting her to the triplets now illuminated with fire. The ritual had changed them, and not just magically. There was a rawness to their bond now. Honest. Elemental.
When they finally reached the edge of the mountain pass, the camp below shimmered in gold wards woven by Elara's court. But something was wrong.
There were no sentries.
No wolves at the border.
No scouts in the trees.
Marcus growled low in his throat. "Something's happened."
They dismounted swiftly, weapons drawn. The moment Aria crossed the first barrier ward, her magic prickled with warning.
Too late.
