The wind carried a strange scent that morning—earth and iron, wildness and warning. Elena felt it the moment she stepped outside Kael's temporary shelter. The air crackled with something old, something watching.
She tightened the cloak around her shoulders. The memory of the last night's attack still lingered—blood, silver bolts, and that terrifying, glorious moment when something deep inside her had nearly broken free.
She hadn't told Kael how close she had come to shifting.
Because part of her had wanted it.
Kael emerged moments later, his wounded side freshly bandaged, though his movements were tighter, more careful. He tossed her a satchel.
"We're heading east," he said simply.
"Why?"
"There's someone you need to meet."
They moved quickly through the pine-covered slopes, passing abandoned watchposts, old stones carved with forgotten sigils, and trails only a true wolf could track. Elena noticed how Kael walked differently here—shoulders higher, eyes more guarded. This wasn't neutral ground. Wherever they were going, it was dangerous.
Ryn flanked them quietly, sniffing the wind, tail rigid.
After an hour, Kael finally spoke. "There's a group that split off from the Hollow decades ago. A rogue pack. They call themselves the Ashclaws."
Elena raised a brow. "Friends of yours?"
Kael gave her a tight smile. "Not exactly. But their leader owes me a favor."
She stopped walking. "And what do they want in return?"
Kael hesitated. "Nothing you'll have to give. Hopefully."
Elena didn't like the sound of that.
Soon they reached a cliff overlooking a hidden valley. Smoke curled from crude chimneys below. Structures of wood and stone blended into the landscape—half-village, half-fortress.
"Elena Morgan," a voice called out.
They both turned.
A woman stood at the treeline, tall and broad-shouldered, with eyes as pale as ash bark and a long scar running down her neck. She wore armor made of wolfhide and steel.
Kael stepped forward. "Lyra."
The woman's gaze flicked to Elena. "So this is her."
"I'm standing right here," Elena said flatly.
Lyra grinned. "You've got a spine. That's good. You'll need it."
She gestured for them to follow, and they descended into the Ashclaw encampment. Elena couldn't help but notice the wary glances, the way hands hovered near weapons. These wolves didn't trust easily.
In the heart of the village, Lyra led them into a circle of stones.
"We have rules here," she said. "Blood for blood. Truth for truth. And pacts that bind."
Kael nodded. "We're asking for sanctuary."
Lyra turned to Elena. "And you? Do you know what you're asking for?"
Elena met her gaze. "I'm not here to be protected. I'm here to learn. To fight."
Lyra's expression shifted slightly—approval, maybe even respect.
"Then drink," she said, pulling out a silver flask etched with runes. "If your blood is true, the forest will answer."
Elena hesitated only a moment before taking it. The liquid burned like fire, cold and hot at once, and the world tilted.
Images flashed behind her eyes—wolves running through snow, her mother crying under a red moon, silver chains, fire, a girl not yet born howling beneath the stars.
She gasped, nearly falling, but Kael caught her.
The circle of stones glowed faintly. Lyra nodded.
"She's real."
Elena exhaled, her legs still shaking. "What was that?"
"A memory," Lyra said. "Not yours. The Hollow's. You've been accepted."
That night, a fire blazed high in the center of camp. Ashclaws howled to the sky, a celebration of strength and a warning to any who might listen.
Elena sat beside Kael, watching the flames. For the first time, she felt not like a visitor—but like something ancient had reached out and pulled her into the fold.
"This won't be easy," Kael murmured. "The Ashclaws are wild. Dangerous. But they may be the key to your future."
"And if they turn on us?"
"Then we turn into something worse."
Elena's eyes locked with Lyra's across the fire.
She understood now: this wasn't just about survival.
This was war.
And she was ready to choose her side.