The sound of the wolves came first — low, throaty growls rolling through the fog like thunder beneath the earth.
Aira's pulse raced. The mark on her wrist flared again, the light spilling across her skin like molten silver.
The stranger — still breathless from the last fight — didn't look at her when he spoke.
"Don't think. Feel. The mark will answer to instinct before reason."
She swallowed hard. "Instinct's telling me to run."
"Then tell it to learn faster."
From the treeline, the wolves emerged — but these were no ordinary beasts.
Their eyes burned with lunar fire; their fur shimmered like smoke. They walked not on four legs, but something in-between, half-shape, half-shadow. The pack surrounded the bridge in silence.
The largest one stepped forward — nearly man-sized, its chest bound in rune-etched armor.
When it spoke, its voice was jagged, split between growl and word.
"Remnant. The Council demands the girl."
The stranger lifted his blade, its edge humming faintly with red light.
"Tell your Council they can choke on their demands."
The wolf grinned, fangs glinting wet.
"You forget your place, exile. You serve the balance. The Heir breaks it."
Aira stepped forward before she could stop herself.
"I'm not anyone's heir!"
The pack's eyes snapped to her in unison. The mark blazed. For an instant, the wolves flinched — instinctive, ancient fear.
The stranger murmured, "They can smell what you are now. You can't hide it anymore."
Then the wolves lunged.
The first hit like a truck, claws slamming into the asphalt. The stranger met it midair, steel against bone. Sparks and blood danced in the night. Aira ducked, rolling across the wet ground as another beast leapt over her head.
The world blurred — motion, breath, heartbeat.
She raised her hand and screamed. The light burst out again, this time pure white. The wolf froze mid-leap, then dissolved into ash that scattered into the fog.
The others howled — not from pain, but recognition.
"She bears the First Light!" one shrieked.
"The prophecy burns again!"
The stranger moved like lightning, his blade cutting clean arcs through the mist. Each strike left ripples that lingered in the air, as though reality itself resisted closing around him.
One by one, the wolves fell — some disintegrating, others retreating into the shadows they'd crawled from.
When the last of them vanished, the night was still again. The bridge cracked beneath them, half its railing torn away. Blood — black and silver — dripped into the lake below.
Aira stood trembling, her hand still glowing faintly. "I killed one."
The stranger wiped his blade on the asphalt. "You survived. That's what matters."
Her voice cracked. "They were alive. Thinking. Talking—"
"They would've torn you apart."
"That doesn't make it right."
He turned to face her fully then. His eyes burned gold, but his voice softened.
"No. It doesn't. But the world you knew doesn't trade in right and wrong anymore."
---
They drove until dawn. The radio crackled faintly, picking up distorted whispers instead of music. The world outside the windows looked unreal — fog still clinging to the trees, like the night hadn't quite let go.
Aira finally spoke. "You said they served a Council. Who are they?"
"The Lunar Covenant," he said. "Werebloods sworn to preserve the old laws. They believe the First Light's return means the end of their dominion."
"And this 'First Light'—that's me?"
He hesitated. "Not yet. But you carry its seed."
"Then what happens when it grows?"
He didn't answer. His silence was worse than any truth.
---
By mid-morning they reached a ruined monastery perched on a cliff. The towers were hollow, eaten by time, the stones slick with moss.
"This place is safe?" Aira asked.
"For now."
He led her inside. The main hall was lit by shafts of sun piercing the broken ceiling. A mosaic covered the far wall — a woman carved in silver glass, her hands cupping a flame. Beneath her, smaller figures bowed, faces erased by centuries of weather.
Aira felt her chest tighten. "I've seen her before."
"In dreams?"
She nodded slowly. "She was crying blood."
The stranger's expression darkened. "Then the dreams are already starting."
"What does that mean?"
"It means the First Light remembers you. And soon, you'll remember it."
---
They rested in the ruins. The stranger cleaned his blade, humming under his breath — a tune Aira didn't recognize but felt she should.
She sat near the fire they'd built, the warmth doing little to ease the cold that had settled inside her.
"You said you were one of seven Keepers," she said finally. "What happened to the others?"
"They forgot what they were guarding," he said. "And started worshipping it instead."
"Worshipping him," she guessed.
He nodded once. "The one entombed beneath Saint Corvin's wasn't a god. But he knew how to make the desperate believe he was."
"And you?"
"I was his shadow. His weapon. Until I learned shadows aren't loyal—they're bound."
Aira stared at him. "So you broke free."
His smile was bitter. "No one breaks free, Aira. They just choose which chain to wear."
---
That night, the dreams came.
She was standing in an endless cathedral made of bone. Candles floated in the air, their flames burning black. In the center stood the coffin — same as before, but now the lid was open.
Inside lay the man she'd seen in her first dream.
Pale skin. Silver hair. Eyes closed, but his lips moved as though whispering a prayer.
Aira stepped closer. The mark on her wrist glowed in response to something deep in his chest — a pulse answering a pulse.
She reached out.
The man's eyes opened.
They were not human. Not fully. They held the reflection of everything she feared — and everything she'd ever lost.
He smiled faintly.
"You woke me too soon."
Aira tried to speak but couldn't. The air froze in her lungs.
His voice was soft, ancient. "You carry my light. My memory. But memory is a cage, child. When it breaks, you'll wish you hadn't touched it."
The world around her began to melt — walls dripping like wax. His hand reached toward her.
"Find me," he whispered. "Before they do."
She woke screaming.
The stranger was already beside her, hand on her shoulder. "Dream again?"
She nodded, shaking. "He spoke to me."
"What did he say?"
She hesitated. "That I woke him too soon."
The stranger's expression tightened. "Then it's begun."
"What has?"
"The Convergence. The barrier between sleep and memory is thinning. When it breaks, every creature that once served the First Light will remember their allegiance."
"Then we stop it."
He looked at her — tired, almost hollow.
"There is no stopping it. There's only surviving it."
---
Outside, thunder rolled. The horizon glowed faintly red, as if the moon had bled into dawn.
The stranger stood at the edge of the cliff, staring down at the dark sea. "The witches will move next," he said quietly. "They'll want to bind you before the others can claim you."
"Witches?"
"Not like storybooks. They weave blood into thought, and thought into command. They were the first to kneel when the Light fell."
Aira's stomach twisted. "And they'll come for me?"
"They already are."
As if answering him, a sound echoed across the cliffs — soft, melodic, like bells underwater. Then voices — dozens, chanting in a language that scraped against her bones.
Mist rose from the valley below. Shapes moved within it — robed figures, their faces hidden, their hands glowing faintly with crimson runes.
The stranger unsheathed his blade. "Stay behind me."
But Aira stepped forward. "No. This time, I don't hide."
The mark flared, bright enough to turn the fog to glass. The witches halted, their chant faltering.
From within the mist, one stepped forward — tall, her veil woven from threads of shadow.
When she spoke, her voice carried both kindness and cruelty.
"Child of the First Light," she said, "you bear the burden of the dawn. Come with us, and you'll learn to carry it without burning."
Aira met her gaze. "And if I refuse?"
The witch smiled. "Then we'll teach you the meaning of night."
The air thickened — symbols forming above their heads, pulsing with life. The stranger moved to block her, but Aira lifted her hand.
"I said I don't hide."
The mark erupted. Silver fire rained from her palm. The symbols shattered. The witches screamed, voices fracturing the air itself.
When the light faded, the valley was silent. Only ash and echoes remained.
The stranger looked at her in awe — and fear.
"What are you becoming?"
Aira's eyes were still glowing. "What I was always meant to be."
Above them, the moon — now full again though it shouldn't have been — burned with impossible light.
And somewhere in the dark, the voice from her dreams whispered, almost tender:
> "The Light remembers you, Aira."