Chapter Two

Air tore into her lungs before awareness fully returned.

Elora came upright in her narrow bed, fingers curling into the blanket as though she could anchor herself against the sensation of falling that still clung to her body. For a lingering moment the memory of open sky collapsing inward pressed against her ribs, the hollow absence where warmth had been settling just beneath her skin. Gradually the shape of her room replaced it—the slanted stone ceiling, the pale thread of morning light slipping through clear glass, the quiet weight of wool and wood and unmoving air. Everything held its place. Nothing vanished.

She forced her breathing steady and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, letting her feet meet the polished boards below. Solid. Predictable. The kind of ground that did not disappear without warning.

“The dream again,” she murmured.

It had followed her since her first shift at sixteen, returning with quiet insistence: the same forest, the same running, the same presence beside her that felt more real than most daylight hours. For two years it had always ended at the river—moonlight stretching over dark water, the hush of current over stone, the quiet ache of waking before she could choose to remain.

Last night had been different.

She did not let herself linger on how.

Her wolf shifted restlessly beneath her skin, unsettled by the abrupt return but contained. Elora pressed her palm briefly to her sternum until her heartbeat slowed into something measured.

Her room reflected discipline more than comfort. The bed aligned flush to the wall. The dresser stood square beneath the cracked mirror. Her blades and practice spear rested within easy reach of the door, balanced and maintained. Nothing lay where it could catch her in the dark. She dressed without hesitation—black tunic drawn smooth across her shoulders, slate-grey trousers secured, boots laced tight enough for sudden movement. When she fastened the clasp of her bronze cloak, her wrist twinged faintly where the pale scar circled it. She acknowledged the sensation and let her hand fall.

The mirror caught her reflection as she straightened. Golden eyes regarded her steadily, alert even before the day demanded it. There had been a time when she had woken slower, when she lingered beneath blankets until called; she barely remembered it.

“Guide the hunt,” she whispered, fingers brushing lightly over her chest. “Guard the heart.”

The words steadied her.

The scent of woodsmoke drifted down the hallway as she stepped into it, mingling with bread warming on the stove. The kitchen lay at the center of the house, proportioned for a family of four, its stonework clean and well-kept, copper fittings polished from years of use. Nothing about the home suggested neglect; it bore the steady care of those who understood structure and maintained it.

Micah sat at the table, long limbs folded into a space that hadn’t yet quite grown to fit him. His dark hair refused discipline, sticking up in uneven angles, and when he looked up at the sound of her boots, his amber-brown eyes carried more thoughtfulness than most boys his age.

“You’re up before the bells,” he observed. “That’s suspicious.”

She crossed the room and nudged his knee lightly before sitting beside him. “You’re suspicious.”

“I’m observant,” he corrected, mouth twitching.

Their mother moved between stove and basin with quiet precision, posture straight, movements efficient without appearing hurried. Elora noticed the bruise along her mother’s cheekbone without allowing her gaze to linger. She shifted her chair a fraction closer to Micah before reaching for the bread.

No one mentioned it.

“You couldn’t sleep?” she asked him, keeping her tone light as she tore bread into smaller pieces for him before realizing what she was doing.

Micah noticed. He always did.

“Dreams again,” he said, not looking up immediately. “It’s fine. I just need to get through Middle Ring. That’s tougher than anything my head throws at me.”

She studied the way he squared his shoulders when he said it.

“Middle Ring’s meant to feel that way,” she replied. “If it didn’t, they wouldn’t move you up.”

He gave a faint huff. “Instructor Halren says pressure makes strong bones.”

“He would.”

Micah hesitated, then glanced up at her through his lashes. “Do you think my spirit will be a panther like Mama’s?”

There it was. Hope wrapped carefully inside the question.

“You already move like her,” Elora said. “You watch first. Most people don’t.”

“That’s not the same as claws.”

“Claws are loud,” she said quietly. “You don’t need loud.”

He absorbed that, fingers tightening slightly around his fork.

“You don’t think I’ll be like—” He stopped himself, gaze flicking briefly toward the hallway before returning to his plate.

Elora’s jaw tightened for half a heartbeat before smoothing. She nudged his shoulder gently with hers.

“You won’t,” she said, steady as stone.

He studied her face, then nodded once.

“I just need to get through Middle Ring,” he repeated.

“You will.”

Their mother’s lips curved faintly at the exchange. The emotion brushed across Elora’s senses before she realized it did not belong to her. It traveled along the thin thread of Spiritbond she shared with Micah—his love for their mother, bright and protective.

Her comm crystal vibrated lightly against the counter.

She reached for it, the faceted stone humming beneath her fingers as etched runes along its edge brightened.

Awake? Don’t make me wake the whole block with my rendition of Fangs at First Light again.

Elora closed her eyes briefly.

Please, Gods’ no. Not again. I’m on my way out. Show some restraint.

No promises.

She slipped the crystal into her bag before slinging it over her shoulder, already moving toward the door.

“I’m heading out.”

“Eat properly at midday,” her mother reminded her. “Storm currents have been shifting.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Micah lifted his fork. “Tell Kailee I’m still undefeated.”

“For what?”

“For everything.”

Elora ruffled his hair as she passed.

Outside, the district stood in orderly symmetry. Stone façades lined the street in clean, measured rows, copper conduits running neatly along foundation lines, shutters maintained and aligned. It was a neighborhood built for families who had earned their place within Ancnix’s hierarchy—respected, structured, unembellished but solid.

The morning air carried the echo of training drills from nearby courtyards, wooden practice blades striking in steady cadence.

Kailee pushed off the side of the carriage the moment she saw her, golden curls catching the muted morning light.

“You look like you lost an argument with sleep,” she declared, folding her arms as she studied Elora’s face. “Want to punch something?”

Elora gave her a flat look.

“I volunteer as tribute,” Kailee added helpfully.

“You’d enjoy that too much.”

Kailee sighed. “You know me so well.”

A faint smile touched Elora’s mouth before she could stop it.

“There she is,” Kailee murmured, already turning toward the carriage, satisfied.

The crystal core flared as they climbed inside, runes pulsing softly as the carriage rolled forward. Elora glanced back once and caught sight of Micah at the front window, his palm pressed flat against the glass.

Her wolf remained alert beneath her skin.

As the carriage joined the main thoroughfare, they passed lines of Middle Ring and Upper Ring students moving toward their respective halls, House colors marking lineage in subtle patterns. Patrol rotations shifted with practiced precision, boots striking stone in steady rhythm.

Elora rested her forearm lightly against the window frame and watched the city move around her. Ancnix moved with purpose—measured, disciplined, certain of itself. Stone did not bend here. Lines did not blur. Everything held its shape.

Unlike the forest.

The memory rose unbidden—rain against fur, the river’s hush, the warmth that had run beside her for two years without fail. For a moment she could almost feel it again.

Then the absence followed.

Her fingers tightened slightly against the carriage frame before she forced them to loosen.

“Upper Ring awaits,” Kailee announced lightly from across the seat.

Elora inclined her head, gaze returning to the orderly streets ahead.

The carriage carried them toward the Upper Ring halls, and the dream lingered at the edge of her thoughts like a bruise she refused to press.