The hall reeked of blood and fear.
Mira stood frozen at the center of the council chamber as Silverfang wolves closed in around her. Their voices overlapped—angry, sharp, hungry for judgment. The murdered elder lay covered near the far wall, but his presence filled the room like a curse.
She felt it again.
The bond.
Not the steady pull she had grown used to, but something broken. Jagged. Burning wrong.
Ryker staggered beside her, one hand pressed to his chest, his breath coming hard. His face had gone pale beneath the torchlight, golden eyes flaring bright and wild.
"Everyone step back," he commanded.
No one moved.
"The blade was Nightshade," an elder snarled. "The scent is hers."
Mira swallowed. "I never touched him."
"You don't have to," another voice hissed. "You only had to distract us."
The accusation hit like a slap.
Ryker straightened slowly, pain etched into every line of his posture. "Enough."
The room quieted—but did not soften.
"There is something wrong with the bond," he said, voice tight. "Someone tried to damage it."
A ripple of unease passed through the council.
"That's impossible," the seer croaked from her seat. "A mate bond cannot be altered."
"Then explain why it hurts," Ryker snapped.
Mira flinched as the bond surged again, heat slicing through her ribs. She pressed a hand to her chest, breath catching.
The seer's cloudy eyes fixed on her.
"Come forward," the old woman said.
Mira hesitated.
Ryker turned to her, his expression unreadable. "Do it."
She stepped toward the seer, boots echoing against stone. The circle tightened around her. She could feel Silverfang's hostility like claws scraping her skin.
The seer reached out, fingers trembling, and pressed two fingers to Mira's wrist.
The world exploded.
Mira cried out as pain ripped through her, white and blinding. Memories she did not own flooded her mind—fire tearing through forest homes, Silverfang wolves screaming as Nightshade blades cut them down, children hiding under broken beams.
Ryker gasped sharply at the same time.
He dropped to one knee.
Mira collapsed with him, the bond screaming between them like a living thing.
"Stop!" Ryker shouted. "Pull back!"
The seer jerked her hand away, shaking. "By the Moon…"
The hall fell deathly quiet.
"What did you see?" an elder demanded.
The seer stared at Mira in horror. "Two truths," she whispered. "And neither is whole."
Mira struggled to breathe. "What does that mean?"
"It means," the seer said slowly, "that the mate bond connected you before you ever met."
Ryker looked up sharply. "That's not possible."
"It is," the seer replied. "But it should not happen."
Mira's heart pounded. "Explain."
The seer leaned heavily on her staff. "Fated mates are bound at first meeting. Sometimes the bond is weak. Sometimes strong. But this..." she gestured between Mira and Ryker, "...this bond was anchored years ago."
Silence crashed down.
Ryker rose slowly to his feet. "Anchored how?"
The seer swallowed. "By blood."
Mira's stomach dropped. "That makes no sense."
"It does if blood was spilled during a Moon Rite," the seer said. "If a death occurred during a sacred alignment, fate can… attach itself."
Ryker's jaw clenched. "You're saying this bond began with a killing."
"Yes," the seer whispered. "And that killing happened at the start of the war."
Mira's knees nearly buckled.
"My grandmother," she said faintly.
Ryker stiffened. "No."
"She died during the first Nightshade–Silverfang clash," Mira said, voice shaking. "On a full moon."
Ryker's breath left him in a harsh exhale.
"That night," he said slowly, "my uncle led the border forces."
The room erupted.
Murmurs flew like sparks. The name of Ryker's uncle spread through the hall, sharp and uneasy.
"That's treason," someone growled.
"That's impossible," another snapped.
Ryker lifted a hand, forcing silence. His gaze never left Mira.
"The bond didn't unite us," he said. "It chained us to a crime."
Mira felt sick. "So this isn't fate. It's punishment."
"No," the seer said softly. "It is a warning."
"A warning of what?" Mira demanded.
"That the war was born from a lie powerful enough to scar fate itself."
The bond pulsed again—slower now, heavier. Different.
Mira felt Ryker then, truly felt him. Not his strength or authority, but his doubt. His buried grief. His fear of what the truth might destroy.
"You felt it too," she said quietly.
Ryker nodded once.
"Then you know I didn't kill that elder," she said.
"I know," he replied.
"But your council won't care," Mira said bitterly.
"No," Ryker agreed. "They won't."
A sharp voice cut through the chamber. "Then let the bond judge her."
Mira turned.
Ryker's uncle stepped forward from the shadows.
Tall. Gray-haired. His eyes were cold and sharp, like a blade that had never dulled.
"Invoke the Trial of Severance," the uncle said calmly. "If she is innocent, the bond will hold. If she is guilty, it will break."
The hall went still.
Mira's blood ran cold. "What is that?"
Ryker's face went dark. "A death sentence."
The uncle smiled thinly. "Only if she is lying."
The seer shook her head violently. "The bond is already damaged. A severance could kill them both."
"Then fate will decide," the uncle replied smoothly.
Ryker stepped in front of Mira without thinking. "I will not allow it."
"You will," the uncle said, "or the council will declare you unfit to lead."
The threat was clear.
Mira felt the bond tighten, not in pain, but in fear.
"If you do this," she said to Ryker, voice low, "you lose your pack."
"If I don't," he replied quietly, "I lose you."
Their eyes locked.
For the first time since the bond formed, Mira felt something shift.
Not hatred.
Not fear.
Trust—fragile and terrifying.
The uncle raised his hand. "Prepare the circle."
Guards moved.
Ryker's jaw clenched as he made his choice.
"Clear the hall," he ordered.
Gasps followed.
"The Trial will happen," Ryker said, voice iron. "But not tonight."
The uncle's eyes narrowed. "You defy the council?"
"I protect my mate," Ryker replied.
The word echoed through the chamber.
Mate.
Mira's breath caught.
The bond flared—bright, whole, alive.
And somewhere deep beneath the mountain, something answered.
A low, ancient pulse.
The seer went pale. "Alpha…"
Ryker turned sharply. "What?"
"The bond just awakened something," she whispered.
The stone beneath their feet trembled.
And from far below the stronghold, a howl rose that did not belong to any living wolf.
The howl rose again, deeper this time, vibrating through bone and stone.
The council chamber shook. Dust rained from the ceiling as elders cried out and guards reached for weapons they could not use against whatever answered that call.
Mira's knees buckled. The bond burned hot, then cold, then locked into place.
Ryker grabbed her before she fell.
"This isn't the bond," the seer whispered in terror. "This is what was buried beneath it."
The uncle's smile vanished. "Impossible. That thing was sealed."
A stone split open at the center of the hall.
Ancient runes flared to life, glowing red with old blood magic. The scent of death and moonfire filled the air.
Mira screamed as visions slammed into her—her grandmother standing in a ritual circle, Ryker's uncle chanting, a blade raised not for mercy but for binding.
"You used her," Mira gasped, staring at him. "You sacrificed her to start the war."
The uncle stepped back. "She was necessary."
The floor collapsed.
Mira and Ryker plunged into darkness as the bond snapped tight between them.
And as they fell, a voice echoed from below—ancient, furious, and awake.
"Choose, children of war. End the lie… or be consumed by it."