Dawn crept like an old wound reopening.
The cave walls glistened with sweat and condensation; faint veins of silver light broke through the cracks above, painting the wolves in fractured gleam. Lin Wuji woke before the others, his breath clouding the air. For a moment, he didn't move. The rhythm of the sleeping pack was a heartbeat that wasn't his.
He rose quietly, the muscles in his shoulders aching from half-shifted rest. His hand brushed the stone floor — cold, damp, real. He half expected the memory of the charm, of the scent, of Fangxin's eyes to fade with morning. It didn't.
Scar-Left stirred nearby, stretching. "You don't sleep," he murmured through a low growl. "Dreams chase you, or do you chase them?"
Wuji didn't answer. He stepped toward the cave mouth. Mist rolled outside, thick as breath.
"You think too loudly," Scar-Left said again, padding closer. "The Alpha feels it. When you question him, the pack hears it in your scent."
Wuji turned, jaw tight. "Do you?"
The older wolf's golden eye gleamed in the half-dark. "I smell doubt. It stinks of man."
He left it at that, curling back into shadow. Wuji stood alone, staring at the fog-shrouded forest below.
Fangxin emerged an hour later. His presence filled the cave like thunder behind a mountain. He didn't speak immediately, but when he did, the words cut through the stillness.
"The hunters move north," he said. "They follow the river's spine. They've begun to learn."
Scar-Left lifted his head. "We strike before they set traps."
"No," Fangxin replied. "They carry silver and fire. Let them tire themselves in the wet ground. We hunt only when the moon commands it."
He turned toward Wuji, the faintest motion of his head — a signal.
"Walk with me."
Outside, the air was sharp with frost. The forest below shimmered faintly where dawn met fog. Fangxin moved without sound, his paws sinking into soft moss. Wuji followed, every instinct caught between reverence and dread.
"You doubt me," Fangxin said, not turning.
"I—" Wuji started, but the Alpha's voice deepened.
"The blood between us makes lies pointless."
Silence. The only sound was the wind threading through branches. Wuji felt the truth pressing at his throat like a blade.
"There was a charm," he said finally. "At the ruins. My sister made one, long ago. I smelled you there."
Fangxin stopped. Slowly, he faced him. His eyes glowed faintly gold in the fog.
"Your sister," the Alpha murmured. "A girl who carved moons and prayed to a sky that never answered."
Wuji's heart slammed. "You remember her."
"I remember everyone I've killed."
The words hit harder than any blow. Wuji stepped back, breath breaking. "Why?"
Fangxin's tone didn't rise. It didn't need to. "Because your father was one of them—Order blood. A hunter cloaked in mercy. He led raids. Burned dens. He made orphans long before you became one."
"That's a lie."
"Is it?" Fangxin's gaze hardened. "The Silver Order calls itself pure, but its hands were red before you were born. I burned that purity to ash. It was war, not murder."
Wuji's voice trembled. "You killed them for vengeance."
"I killed them for balance." Fangxin stepped closer. "The curse runs through both our kinds. Man made the beast. The beast returns the favor."
Wuji wanted to strike him, to tear that calm voice from the world. But something colder held him still — the echo of truth. His father had hunted beasts. He remembered the weapons, the secrecy, the quiet dread in his mother's eyes.
The ground felt unsteady beneath him.
"You could have told me," he whispered.
"You were not ready."
"I'll never be ready for that."
Fangxin's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something like sorrow buried deep. "Then you'll break. Or change. Those are the only paths left."
He turned and walked back toward the cave, leaving Wuji trembling in the fog.
Far away, in the forest's edge, Captain Elira watched smoke rise from a distant ridge. Her armor was smeared with mud, her hair bound in a rough braid. She hadn't slept in two days.
"Northwest," Garran said, crouched beside her. "They're not running. They're circling us."
Elira said nothing. Her eyes traced the faint trail through the mist. It wasn't random. Every burned outpost, every mutilated patrol formed an arc around the valley. A ring.
"They're hunting us," Garran muttered.
"No," Elira said quietly. "They're waiting for something."
She unslung her crossbow, checking the silver bolts. The metal caught a shard of light and reflected across her scar. "Tell the scouts to fall back. No one moves beyond the river until I say."
Garran hesitated. "Captain… the men whisper. They say the golden-eyed one still lives. That he leads them."
Elira didn't look at him. "He doesn't lead them. Not yet."
"Then what is he?"
She exhaled slowly. "The bridge between what we kill and what we've become."
The commander stared at her, unsettled. "You talk like the priests now."
"Maybe the priests were the only ones paying attention."
By nightfall, the moon rose full again, a pale wound in the sky. The pack gathered near the ridge where the forest met the stone cliffs. The air buzzed with unease. Fangxin stood at the center, a living monument of shadow and power.
Wuji lingered at the edge, his pulse steady but his thoughts chaotic. Every breath he took seemed heavier. Fangxin's confession replayed in fragments — I remember everyone I've killed.
Scar-Left brushed past him. "You're bleeding inside," he said. "I can smell it."
Wuji didn't answer.
"You'll have to choose soon," the older wolf continued. "Fangxin or the past. Wolves who carry both end up buried between them."
Before Wuji could respond, Fangxin lifted his head and spoke.
"The hunters cross the river tonight. Their fire taints the air. We run no more."
The pack stirred, claws scratching against rock. A low, rising growl moved through them — not rage, but hunger.
Fangxin's gaze fell on Wuji. "You'll lead the first watch."
Wuji blinked. "Why me?"
"Because you smell them before I do," Fangxin said. "Because they made you. Because you must learn what side of your blood sings louder."
He stepped close enough that their foreheads almost touched. "When you see them, remember who burned first."
The words lodged in Wuji's mind like splinters.
As the pack dispersed, he turned toward the valley below. Tiny flickers of torchlight danced through the trees — human shapes moving like ghosts.
For a long moment, he simply watched.
His throat ached with something unspoken. Rage, grief, guilt — they all felt the same now.
Behind him, the wolves began to hum the low, rhythmic growl that preceded the hunt. Ahead, the Silver Order crept closer, their boots whispering against wet earth.
Between them, in the breathless dark, Lin Wuji waited.
The air was heavy with the scent of betrayal — and it carried his name.