"You're all going to die!!"
The words didn't come from a person.
They fell from the sky like a crack in reality—cold, final, echoing through a realm Soraya had never seen before.
Flames roared behind the words. Wolves howled. A kingdom crumbled into ash.
Soraya gasped—
And her eyes snapped open, glowing a fierce molten gold before fading back into their usual stormy grey.
Her hand was still pressed against the massive book lying on the library table.
Then the pain hit.
Burning.
Real, blistering heat shooting through her palm as if the leather was suddenly red-hot metal.
She tore her hand away with a strangled breath, stumbling back as the heavy brown tome thudded against the polished oak.
The royal library—a sacred place built generations before her birth—suddenly felt colder.
Quieter.
Like the ancient shelves themselves were holding their breath.
She stared at her palm.
Red.
Trembling.
Alive with a glow that wasn't natural.
"What… was that?" she whispered hoarsely.
She hadn't come here for this.
She'd come to read, to escape, to hide from the constant pressure of being a princess in the Winter Realm—
And from the growing panic that she was almost nineteen and still hadn't awakened her wolf's gift.
Other wolves discovered their abilities at eighteen.
Some earlier.
Some born with it.
But Soraya?
Nothing.
Not a spark. Not a twitch.
Just silence.
Until now.
She stared at the book again.
It was old—far older than any volume she had ever seen.
Brown leather stretched over thick pages, the cover etched with markings she didn't recognize… symbols that seemed to pulse faintly in the candlelight.
She reached out—
Slowly.
Carefully.
As if the book were a sleeping beast and one wrong move would wake it.
Her fingers hovered an inch above the cover.
Then—
CRACK.
A jolt of electricity shot through her hand.
"Ah!"
She yanked her fingers back, clutching her wrist. It wasn't just a shock—it felt like a live current had crawled into her bones.
Before she could breathe, a golden pulse exploded from the book.
Silent.
Violent.
A perfect sphere of shimmering light rippling outward like a soundless bomb.
Pooof.
The force slammed through the library.
Scrolls rattled.
Shelves trembled.
And dozens of books collapsed to the floor in waves.
Soraya stood frozen, heart hammering, chest rising and falling too fast. The gold sparkles slowly dissolved into the air like dust.
The library door burst open.
"Princess Soraya!"
A maid hurried inside, eyes wide as she took in the fallen books.
Right.
Princess.
She hated the title, but it was hers—sister to Alpha King Zephran of the Winter Realm.
Soraya swallowed hard.
"I— I don't know what happened. I didn't touch anything."
The maid dropped into a quick bow.
"My Lady… His Highness requests your presence. Immediately."
Of course.
She knew exactly why.
Her nineteenth birthday was days away.
And Zephran had been circling her like a hawk, waiting for her dormant powers to show even the smallest hint of awakening.
If he heard about this—
This explosion—
He'd assume it was her long-lost ability finally waking up.
Soraya nodded numbly.
"Tell him I'm coming."
The maid bowed again and slipped out.
But Soraya didn't move.
Her eyes drifted back to the book.
It should've terrified her.
It shocked her.
Burned her.
Blasted half the library apart.
Yet…
Her fear was drowned by something else.
Curiosity.
A pull.
A whisper deep in her chest telling her:
Pick it up.
She stepped forward.
Her heart beat loud enough to echo.
Her hand hovered, trembling—
Then she pressed her palm onto the cover.
Nothing.
No heat.
No shock.
No light.
Just silence.
And the book sat there, heavy and ancient, as if waiting for her.
Soraya exhaled shakily, slid it off the table, and carried it with her, making her way to the balcony.
The cold bit at her skin, snowflakes dusting her hair like tiny crystals. Zephran was already there, shoulders squared, eyes locked on the pack far below, moving through the forest like shadows.
Zephran had been her protector since her parents died. His coily blonde hair—like hers, though just shoulder-length—and his grey eyes mirrored hers.
"Brother, you called for me?" she asked softly, trying to keep her voice steady despite the echoing thrill of the unknown.
He turned, and a slow smile softened his usually sharp features. "Ah, yes. I'm going hunting tonight. Would you like to come?" His gaze flicked back to the pack.
Soraya frowned. "You're hunting tonight? During Christmas Eve? Brother…" Her breath fogged in the icy air. "It's snowing. It's Christmas Eve. Can't we… just enjoy our time together?"
"You worry too much. There's no harm in a little hunt."
Soraya's stomach twisted. "I don't feel good. Something's bothering me. I don't know what it is… but I've been having weird dreams, visions. Please, don't go."
Zephran shook his head, amused. "You always fear shadows that aren't there. You should find what's inside you. Your time is running out."
She glared at him, anger and frustration bubbling up. "You're always protecting me. Always controlling me. Half the reason I can't leave the park—the Wolf Park, her cage disguised as a home—half the reason she couldn't find her mate… it was all because of him. All I want—"
"To be free," he said softly, finishing her thought. His hand brushed hers, warm and grounding. "I know, little wolf. But some paths are chosen for us, not by us."
Zephran turned to leave.
Soraya's hand shot out. She gripped his arm, a pleading look in her eyes.
"Please… don't go," she whispered, "Something bad is coming. I can feel it."