Zylia's POV

The forest seemed endless.

We had been walking miles and miles and it didn't look like the other was going to end soon.

Branches clawed at my hair as I followed Mason deeper into the dark. His steps were silent, confident, like the night knew him. Mine weren't. Every twig I broke sounded like an apology.

The packlands were long behind me now. Each breath I took out here tasted like betrayal, sharp and cold.

"Keep up," Mason muttered without looking back.

"I'm trying," I said, clutching the strap of my bag tighter.

"Then try harder."

I bit my tongue. He wasn't cruel, just blunt, a man made of rough edges and solitude.

"Can you slow down a bit," my feet dragged as I tried to catch my breath.

Mason turned slowly, his chest heaving out of frustration.

"This is the slowest I can walk Zylia. You chose to follow me."

"Just...please," I bent slightly, my palms resting on my knees.

"Five minutes, Zylia. Five minutes." He said.

"Thank you," I said, resting my back on a tree.

He didn't budge. He stood alert like he was ready to go to war.

"Rest a little." I said, tapping a spot beside me.

"Your time's up." He growled.

I could've sworn I didn't use a second out of the time he gave me.

We climbed over a fallen tree, and I stumbled when my boot caught on a root. Mason reached out instinctively, steadying me by the arm. His grip was firm, warm, grounding. Then, almost too quickly, he let go.

"Watch where you're going," he said, voice softer than before.

"I said I'm trying," I mumbled.

A ghost of a smirk crossed his lips. "You talk too much for someone who's scared."

"I'm not scared."

He raised a brow. "Sure."

We walked until the trees thinned into a clearing lit by pale moonlight. Shapes moved in the shadows, men and women with hard eyes and torn clothes. Rogues.

The air changed, heavy with smoke, blood, and something feral. My wolf shrank inside me.

Mason stopped at the edge of the clearing. "Welcome to nowhere," he said.

Dozens of gazes turned our way. Conversations fell silent. The camp smelled of wet fur, cheap whiskey, and desperation.

"Who's the stray?" a voice called from near the fire.

Mason didn't answer.

"She's pack," another sneered. "You bringin' us Silverclaw's trash now, Mason?"

My throat went dry.

"She's with me," Mason said simply. His tone was enough to make most of them look away.

"Didn't know you were babysitting now," someone muttered.

Mason shot him a glare sharp enough to silence him. "Didn't ask what you knew."

He turned back to me. "You can rest there." He pointed to a half-collapsed tent near the dying fire.

I hesitated. "And you?"

"I've got my own corner of hell." He walked off before I could say thank you.

The tent smelled of smoke and rain-soaked fabric. I dropped my bag inside and sat on the cold ground, hugging my knees. The fabric was torn enough to let in threads of moonlight.

Outside, laughter broke the night, rough, dangerous. Someone shouted, then a thud, a snarl.

This was nothing like the packlands. There were no rules here, no Luna to keep order. Just survival.

I pressed my forehead against my arms and tried not to cry.

You wanted to belong.

I reminded myself. And now, no one wants you.

***

I don't know when sleep took me.

But when I opened my eyes, I wasn't in the tent anymore.

Silver light surrounded me, liquid and endless. The air shimmered like water, and somewhere in the distance, a low hum rose,  a melody that felt older than time.

I turned, heart pounding. The forest was gone. So was the pain.

A woman stood before me, her hair flowing like moonlight, her eyes deep and endless.

The Moon Goddess.

Her voice was soft, layered, like many voices speaking through one. "Child of flame," she whispered. "Not all prophecies speak truth. Some speak choice."

My mouth parted. "I don't... I don't understand, Moon Goddess."

"You will." She reached out, her touch brushing my cheek. Warm. Real. "You were born to balance light and dark. To choose what others fear to face."

Then the world erupted.

Silver fire burst around me, alive, whispering, dancing at the rhythm of my breath. I raised my hands and the flames followed like they knew my soul.

"Why me?" I asked, voice breaking.

Her eyes glowed brighter. "Because you were never meant to be weak."

And then she vanished.

I woke with a gasp.

The tent was cold again, the night pressing in. My palms glowed faintly, silver threads flickering across my skin before fading. I stared, shaking.

It had to be a dream. It had to be.

Outside, voices rose, tense, hushed.

"Mason, you'd better come see this!" someone shouted.

I froze, crawling toward the tent flap. Through the gap, I saw the rogues gathered near the edge of camp. Mason stood among them, looking down at something on the ground, something that made even him go still.

The moonlight caught the glint of it.

A strange sigil.

My heart stopped....

What was that? 

Zylia's POV

"Found this by the ridge," he said, his voice rough with nerves.

He tossed it into the dirt. The firelight caught on dark metal , blackened, cracked, stamped with a strange sigil. A crescent shape torn through by claws.

The murmurs began instantly.

"What the hell is that?"

"That's not pack work."

"It reeks of magic."

Mason crouched beside the emblem, his brow furrowing. "Where exactly did you find it?"

"Near the stream," the man said. "Half buried. Looked fresh."

I took a step closer, the smell of ash biting at my nose. Something about the symbol made my stomach twist. It felt... wrong. Not dangerous in the way blades were , dangerous like something older.

Like Something was watching.

Mason touched the edge of the emblem with his knife. "This isn't Howlborne's mark."

One of the older rogues spat. "Then whose is it?"

No one answered. The silence that followed was worse than the question.

A man behind me muttered, "It showed up the same week she did."

My heart skipped. "What?"

"She's the only new thing around here," another voice growled. "Maybe she brought it."

Mason straightened slowly. "You think she dropped a curse on her own camp?"

"Wouldn't be the first time a pack rat brought trouble," someone snapped.

Laughter followed, sharp and mean.

"I didn't bring anything!" I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "I swear, I've never seen that before."

"Lies." The man who spoke stepped forward , tall, scarred, his yellow eyes glowing faintly in the firelight. "I can smell the pack on you still."

He grabbed my arm before I could move. His grip was firm, tight, like iron, crushing the flesh beneath his fingers. "Maybe we should cut the truth out of you."

"Let her go," Mason said, his voice even.

The rogue didn't move. "You're too soft, Mason. You keep taking in strays, and one day they'll gut you in your sleep."

Mason's knife was at the man's throat before I even saw him move. The blade glinted, reflecting the fire's thin light.

"Say that again," Mason murmured.

The man's jaw clenched. After a tense heartbeat, he released me and stepped back. Mason didn't lower the knife until the other rogues looked away.

I rubbed my arm where bruises were already forming. Mason noticed, his gaze flicking to my skin, then away. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," I lied.

He turned back to the emblem in the dirt. "Whatever this is, it's not pack work. But it means someone's tracking these woods."

A low murmur spread again , quieter this time, edged with fear.

"Tracking us?" a rogue asked.

Mason nodded once. "Maybe. Or testing boundaries. Either way, it's a warning."

The fire crackled, spitting embers into the cold night. I could feel their stares on me , suspicion crawling like insects beneath my skin.

I took a step back. "You think it's me, don't you?"

No one answered.

Mason's voice was steady. "If someone's coming, we'll be ready. Get some rest."

The others hesitated before drifting off into the shadows, muttering under their breath. The only sound left was the wind tugging through the trees and the whisper of the knife sliding back into Mason's belt.

He kicked dirt over the emblem, burying it beneath ash and soil. "Don't leave camp tonight," he said without looking at me.

I nodded, though my throat felt tight. "Mason,"

"Just stay close to the fire."

He walked off into the dark, shoulders tense, leaving me alone with the faint glow of embers and the feeling that something unseen was crawling closer.

I sank down beside the dying fire, hugging my knees to my chest. The woods beyond flickered with shadows, and my thoughts wouldn't stop circling the mark , the torn crescent, the claws, the way the air around it had felt heavy.

Something about it called to me. Whispered.

A faint breeze brushed the hair from my face. For a second, I thought I heard it again , the whisper from my dream.

Not all prophecies speak truth. Some speak choice.

I shivered and pressed my hands to the ground, grounding myself in the dirt.

Then I heard the crunch of a twig behind me.

I froze. "Mason?"

No answer.

The sound came again, slow and deliberate.

I turned, but the dark behind me seemed to breathe.

Another step.  But this time, it was closer.

"Mason?" My voice came out smaller than I wanted.

A shadow moved between the trees , tall, deliberate, watching.

The air grew colder. My pulse pounded in my ears.

Then a voice, deep and calm, spoke from the dark.

"Running won't help you, little stray."

I couldn't breathe.

The wind shifted, carrying the faintest scent of smoke and blood.

"Who...who are you?" My voice shivered.

I didn't turn to look at who it was.

My pulse spiked.

"Touch her or you're wolf steak." A voice growled from behind me.

I turned and it was...

Killian's POV

The night refused to rest.

Even the wind sounded wrong. It blew, carrying too many echoes, too many ghosts.

I sat on the balcony outside my chambers, staring at the training grounds below. The torches had burned out hours ago, but I could still feel the weight of the pack moving beneath the silence, restless, brittle.

It used to hum with strength. With unity. Now it pulsed like a wounded thing.

The bond that tied us, Alpha to pack, trembled at the edges. I felt it every time I reached for their energy and found only emptiness in return.

Zylia's name pressed against my thoughts before I could stop it.

Her scent had faded from the halls, but the memory of her eyes... that stayed. That quiet defiance. The way she looked at me when I said the words that broke her.

The rejection had burned like silver through both of us. I'd told myself it was the right thing , that the prophecy left me no choice. That letting her go was mercy.

But the hollow in my chest didn't feel like mercy.

The door creaked open behind me. I didn't have to turn to know it was Lucien. He'd never been good at hiding his footsteps.

"You're still awake," he said quietly.

"Apparently so are you."

He came to stand beside me, folding his arms over the railing. "Half the warriors can't sleep either. The whole pack feels... off."

"Off?"

Lucien exhaled, his breath fogging the cold air. "Like something's missing. Or breaking."

I didn't answer. I didn't have to.

Lucien's gaze flicked to me. "You feel it too."

I stayed silent.

"Killian," he said, voice softer now. "It started the day you cast her out."

The words hit harder than I wanted them to.

"She was a threat," I said, though the sentence felt like a lie even as I spoke it. "The prophecy,"

",says a lot of things," Lucien cut in. "But it never said she'd destroy us."

My hands tightened on the railing. "You weren't there that night. You didn't see the flames. You didn't hear the Goddess's voice."

"And maybe you didn't understand it."

His tone wasn't defiance , it was worry. That made it worse.

"The pack depends on me to protect them," I said. "If the Goddess warns that claiming her brings ruin, then I don't question it."

Lucien studied me for a long moment. "Maybe the ruin isn't what happens if you claim her... but what happens because you didn't."

His words landed like a blow. The air between us thickened.

I turned away, staring into the forest that stretched beyond the walls. Somewhere past those trees, she was out there , alone.

The bond I'd tried to sever still pulsed faintly at the edge of my consciousness. Not strong enough to follow, but enough to ache. Enough to remind me that no matter what I said, some part of me would always know if she stopped breathing.

Lucien sighed. "You need rest."

"I don't sleep much anymore."

He hesitated before nodding once and leaving me to the night.

When the door closed, I let the silence press in again. The wind had changed. It carried the scent of rain , and something darker beneath it.

Guilt. Or maybe warning.

I stayed there until exhaustion dragged me under.

But exhaustion wasn't mercy,  it was punishment.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the way she looked back before the guards dragged her through the gates. There hadn't been fear in her eyes, only something far worse. Disappointment.

The moon hung low above the forest, pale and watchful, like it was waiting for me to make another mistake.

I told myself again that I'd done the right thing, reminding myself  that strength demanded sacrifice.

But the bond pulsed once, faint and stubborn, like a heartbeat that refused to die.

And I hated myself for feeling it.

***

I didn't know when I drifted into sleep. That didn't matter though.

Flames devoured the training yard , silver flames, too bright, too pure to be natural. They climbed the walls, swallowing the banners, twisting the symbol of the pack into ash. Wolves ran, their howls melting into screams. I tried to command the fire to stop, but it only grew.

And in the center of it stood Zylia , untouched, her eyes glowing silver.

Her voice carried over the roar of the blaze.

"You can't outrun what you're bound to, Killian." Her voice echoed.

The ground cracked beneath my feet. The emblem of our pack split apart, molten light bleeding through the fractures.

When I reached for her, she turned to ash.

I woke with a jolt , breath ragged, palms burning like I'd actually touched the fire.

The room was silent again, but the scent of smoke lingered, faint and unreal.

I looked down at my hands. Silver dust clung to my skin.

And for the first time since her exile, I couldn't tell if the nightmare had ended , or just begun.

Whatever was coming was dangerous....it was violent.

It was something I never prepared for.