The village was gone.
Not burned.
Not broken.
Gone.
Lyra stepped into the silence of the borderlands, her boots crunching over dust where homes had once stood, where children had once played, where wolves had once howled beneath the stars.
Now there was only ash.
Ash in the shape of wolves.
Ash in the outline of outstretched hands.
Ash clinging to the empty bones of the earth like a memory refusing to fade.
The sky above was quiet, too quiet. Even the wind didn't speak. As if the mountain itself was holding its breath.
Kael walked beside her, every muscle tense, his wolf pacing violently beneath his skin. This place… it smelled wrong. Not of blood, not of fire. But something older. Like decay laced with power. Like a wound that had never healed.
"What happened here?" Kael asked, voice low.
Lyra knelt by a patch of scorched earth. She didn't speak. She was listening.
Not with her ears—with her flame.
The fire inside her flickered… and recoiled.
