Aurelia followed Sorana through a maze of corridors that seemed to swallow sound and light. The palace was too vast, too layered—a living maze built to hide secrets and lose wanderers. She kept her steps light, her breathing shallow, one hand never far from the dagger at her waist.
They descended a narrow stairwell slick with damp, then passed under a low arch into a wider, colder space. The air grew thick with the smell of wet fur, iron, and something sharper—fear, or old violence.
Sorana stopped before a heavy, iron-bound door. No torch burned beside it. No guard stood watch. Only deep scratches marred the stone around the frame, as though something had tried, again and again, to claw its way out.
"Here," Sorana whispered.
She pushed the door open.
The wolf den was not a room—it was a cavern carved from the palace's foundations, so vast its far walls melted into shadow. Chains hung from the ceiling like dead vines, some thick as her wrist, others slender and gleaming with rust or dried blood. The floor was patchworked with dark stains and scattered straw. No windows, no torches—only faint moonlight bleeding through narrow slits high above.
Was it empty?
She could see no Calvus. No guards. No wolf.
Aurelia's eyes swept the space, her pulse tapping a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Where is he?
"RRAAAARRR—"
The sound tore through the silence—deep, guttural, close. It vibrated in her bones, in her teeth.
Aurelia froze.
She knew that roar.
Fuck!
It was that beast.
The one from the rain.
The one with blue eyes and venom in its teeth.
Her leg throbbed with phantom pain.
Slowly, she turned.
From the deepest shadows at the back of the den, two points of light appeared—cold, blue, and burning with recognition.
Sorana legs shaking, she knew who this was.
Tenebrarum's pet.
The wolf stepped forward, chain slithering behind it like a serpent. It was larger than she remembered, its fur matted in places, scars silvered under the faint light. It stared right at her, head low, a growl building in its chest.
And beside it, stepping calmly from the same pool of darkness, was Calvus.
He rested a hand on the wolf's broad neck, his expression unreadable.
"You remember each other," he said, his voice echoing softly in the hollow dark.
"I thought you might."
Aurelia took a step back, then another. Her hand tightened around Sorana's wrist, pulling her slowly toward the door.
"Calvus?" Her voice wavered. "Calvus!"
The wolf's ears flattened. Its lips peeled back from teeth longer than her fingers, sharper than any blade she'd ever held.
Then it moved.
Not a lunge—a blur of shadow and weight. It slammed into her before she could scream, driving the air from her lungs as her back hit the stone floor. Straw and dust bloomed around her.
The world narrowed to the smell of wet fur, the heat of its breath, and the blue fire burning in its eyes.
She could feel its claws pricking through the fabric of her tunic, pinning her shoulders. Its jaws hovered inches from her face, canines gleaming in the thin light, dripping saliva that sizzled where it struck the stone.
Sorana cried out, but Aurelia couldn't look away. She was frozen, trapped beneath the memory and the muscle of the beast that had once left venom in her veins.
Then, a single word cut through the growling silence.
"Potens."
The wolf stilled instantly. Its weight shifted off her chest, though it did not retreat far. It remained crouched over her, a low whine vibrating in its throat, eyes still locked on hers.
Calvus stepped forward, his boots silent on the straw. He rested a hand on the wolf's scruff, his touch firm, possessive.
"Potens," he repeated softly. "Tenebrarum named him well."
Aurelia pushed herself up on trembling elbows. Her breath came in ragged gasps. She stared at Calvus, then at the wolf—Potens—who watched her with something that was no longer fury, but a tense, obedient stillness.
"You control it," she whispered, the words scraping raw from her throat.
Calvus's gaze met hers, cool and assessing. "I don't control him," he said. "I remind him of Tenebrarum."
He extended a hand to help her up. Aurelia hesitated, her eyes darting between his outstretched palm and the wolf that had just been on top of her.
"He won't touch you again," Calvus said, his voice low. "Not unless I allow it."
Calvus's grip was firm, not gentle, as he hauled her to her feet. Her legs trembled, but she refused to buckle. Behind him, Potens remained crouched, ears forward, eyes still fixed on her with that unsettling, intelligent stillness.
Without a word, Calvus dragged a heavy wooden chair from the shadows and set it before her. Its legs scraped against the stone, the sound echoing in the vast, hollow space of the den.
"Sit," he said, his tone leaving no room for refusal.
Aurelia glanced at Sorana, who stood frozen near the door, her face pale. Then she looked back at Calvus—at the calm command in his eyes, at the wolf waiting at his side.
Slowly, she sat.
The wood was cold and rough beneath her. She kept her back straight, her hands clenched in her lap, one thumb tracing the hidden outline of the dagger beneath her tunic.
Calvus stood before her, a dark silhouette against the deeper dark of the den. He studied her face as if reading something written there—fear, defiance, memory.
"You remember this creature," he said, not asking. "You remember the venom. The cold. The crawling dark."
Aurelia didn't answer. She didn't need to.
"Tenebrarum keeps him chained because he knows what Potens is capable of," Calvus continued, his voice low, almost conversational. "But a chain only holds what allows itself to be held."
He reached down and touched the heavy collar around the wolf's neck. The metal was etched with runes, some of them still faintly glowing.
"These tunnels you seek… the ones under the walls…" Calvus's eyes lifted to hers. "Potens knows them. He hunted there before he was brought here. Before he was given a name."
Aurelia's breath caught. The wolf is the guide.
"But he does not guide out of kindness," Calvus said, as if hearing her thought. "He guides for a price."
"What price?" The words left her lips before she could stop them.
Calvus smiled—a thin, knowing curve of his mouth.
"Freedom," he said softly. "His… and mine."
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To be continued...