AYLA – POV
My feet were silent on moss‑woven stone. The world after ritual felt both raw and sacred—as if every breath carried the weight of an unbroken vow. The air still shimmered with rune‑ash dust, and beneath me, the earth pulsed soft and alive. Kael walked beside me, hand in palm, our fingers bound by living roots and promises unspoken.
The valley below lay in flickering torchlight—wolves curled, emissaries knelt, walls fractured yet still standing. All waited on us. I felt their eyes—but they weren't what anchored me. It was the flicker of Kael's crown bone, the steady faint pulse in his fingertips. He had stayed. I had chosen.
My wolf stirred, deep inside my ribs. Hungry. It was bond‑hunger—raw and tethered. But now it pulsed with something new: protection, claim, reverence. I inhaled pine and moonfire and realized I could breathe again—not just for survival, but for more.
