2. The Howl That Summoned Kings

The last echo of the wolves’ howl lingered over the clearing long after their voices fell silent.

Elara remained frozen.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as dozens of wolves stood in a perfect circle around her, their eyes reflecting the crimson moon overhead. Not one of them growled. Not one bared its teeth.

They simply watched.

As though they had waited a lifetime for this moment.

“The heir has returned.”

The words repeated inside her mind.

Heir.

The title felt absurd. Impossible.

“There has to be some mistake,” Elara whispered, taking a cautious step backward.

The silver pendant around her neck, now marked by a thin crack, pulsed with warmth.

The great black wolf at the center of the clearing turned toward her. His crimson eyes had softened. There was intelligence in them—an unmistakable awareness that no ordinary animal could possess.

He lowered his head.

Not in surrender.

In respect.

The rest of the wolves followed.

Every one of them bowed.

A knot formed in Elara’s throat.

“No…”

Her voice trembled.

“Don’t do that.”

She wasn’t royalty.

She wasn’t anyone important.

She was simply Elara Voss—the girl who lived in a small cottage at the edge of Blackridge Village, who worked at the bakery every morning, who had spent her entire life wondering why the villagers always looked at her with quiet suspicion.

None of it made sense.

A sudden crack echoed through the forest.

Every wolf snapped its head toward the trees.

The respectful silence shattered.

The black wolf sprang in front of Elara.

His muscles tensed.

Another crack.

This one closer.

Then came the smell.

Smoke.

Not from a campfire.

From burning pine.

Within seconds, frightened birds burst from the treetops.

Something was charging through the forest.

Fast.

Too fast.

The wolves around the clearing began pacing, their ears pinned back.

One released a warning growl.

Another answered.

The forest itself seemed to recoil.

Then they appeared.

Figures cloaked in black emerged between the trees.

Not villagers.

Not hunters.

There were six of them.

Each wore a long coat stitched with silver thread that shimmered beneath the moonlight. Their faces were hidden behind bone-white masks carved into snarling wolf expressions.

Each carried a spear tipped with black metal.

The tallest stepped forward.

“So…”

His voice carried calmly across the clearing.

“The prophecy was true.”

The black wolf growled.

The masked man smiled beneath his mask.

“I wondered which pack would find her first.”

Elara swallowed.

“Who are you?”

The man ignored her.

Instead, he addressed the wolves.

“You know why we’ve come.”

Silence.

“The Blood Council issued its decree twenty years ago.”

No one moved.

“No Forgotten Heir is permitted to live.”

The words struck Elara like ice.

Forgotten Heir?

Live?

Her confusion deepened into fear.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

The masked man finally looked directly at her.

His eyes, visible through the narrow slits in the mask, were pale gray.

Filled with pity.

“That is because they stole your past.”

His words landed harder than any weapon.

“They erased your name.”

“They buried your bloodline.”

“And they hoped the moon would never remember you.”

Elara felt her knees weaken.

Questions flooded her mind faster than she could ask them.

Who had erased her past?

Who were “they”?

Why had everyone lied to her?

Before she could speak, the leader slowly raised one hand.

The six masked hunters lowered their spears.

“I’ll make this simple.”

He pointed toward Elara.

“Hand her over.”

The wolves answered with snarls.

The leader sighed.

“I was hoping you’d choose wisdom.”

He snapped his fingers.

Everything exploded into motion.

The hunters rushed forward.

The wolves collided with them in a violent blur of claws and steel.

The clearing erupted into chaos.

Elara stumbled backward as one hunter thrust his spear toward the black wolf.

The wolf twisted aside with impossible speed, knocking the man into a stone pillar.

Another hunter swung a silver chain.

It wrapped around a wolf’s neck.

The animal cried out in agony as smoke rose from its fur.

Silver.

The chains were made of silver.

Elara’s heart pounded.

She had heard stories.

Silver harmed werewolves.

She had always believed they were myths.

Now those myths were bleeding before her eyes.

The black wolf tackled another attacker, sending both crashing through broken stone.

The ground shook.

One hunter reached Elara.

He grabbed her wrist.

“Come quietly.”

She pulled away.

“No!”

His grip tightened.

Pain shot through her arm.

The cracked pendant flashed.

A burst of silver light exploded between them.

The hunter cried out as the force threw him several feet across the clearing.

Elara stared at her hands.

“I… I didn’t…”

The light vanished.

The pendant grew warmer than ever.

The black wolf looked at her with unmistakable urgency.

Run.

She didn’t hear the word.

She felt it.

She turned and sprinted into the forest.

Branches whipped against her face.

Roots clawed at her boots.

Behind her came shouting.

“They’re escaping!”

“Don’t lose her!”

The moonlight flickered through the trees like broken glass.

She ran until her lungs burned.

Yet no matter how fast she moved, the footsteps behind her grew closer.

Something crashed through the undergrowth.

A spear struck a tree beside her with enough force to split the trunk.

Elara screamed and changed direction.

The forest thickened.

The path disappeared.

She had no idea where she was going.

Then the ground vanished beneath her feet.

She fell.

The hillside gave way beneath layers of wet earth.

She slid through leaves, rocks, and tangled roots before plunging into icy water.

The river swallowed her whole.

The current dragged her downstream.

She fought to breathe.

To surface.

To think.

The river finally hurled her against a smooth rock near its bank.

Coughing violently, she pulled herself onto the shore.

Her clothes were soaked.

Her pendant glowed faintly beneath the fabric.

The forest was silent again.

Too silent.

She slowly stood.

Across the river, on the opposite bank, stood an old woman wrapped in a cloak of gray feathers.

She hadn’t been there a moment ago.

Her silver hair drifted in a wind Elara couldn’t feel.

Most unsettling of all…

Every wolf in the forest had gone quiet.

The old woman smiled.

“I was beginning to think you’d never arrive.”

Elara’s breath caught.

“Who are you?”

The woman stepped closer to the river without making a sound.

“My name no longer matters.”

Her eyes settled on the cracked pendant.

“But yours does.”

She looked directly into Elara’s eyes.

“The name you’ve carried all your life…”

She paused.

“…was never your true name.”

Before Elara could answer, the old woman raised one hand.

The river between them began to glow.

Beneath its surface, ancient symbols awakened, spreading through the water like silver fire.

And somewhere deep beneath the earth…

Something enormous opened its eyes.