Chapter Two

Elora woke with her heart still racing.

For one disorienting moment, she expected to find ash in the air and darkness creeping along the floorboards. The echo of the forest clung to her—the feel of wet earth under her paws, the warmth of him running at her side, and then the cold snap of nothing when he was gone.

Instead, her small room greeted her with dim morning light and quiet.

Her breath came fast, sharp in the stillness. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the hammering of her heart slowly ease.

“The dream again,” she murmured, voice rough.

She pushed her curls back from her face. Sweat cooled along her temples, clinging to strands of dark red hair. Her wolf stirred beneath her skin, restless, ears pricked toward memories Elora tried to block out.

Two years.

She’d been having the same dream for two years—ever since her first shift. The same forest. The same faceless, sacred warmth running beside her. The same feeling of... belonging. And now, more and more, the same ending.

Ash.

Fear.

Vanishing light.

Elora slid her legs over the edge of the bed and let her feet find the wooden floor. It was chilled from the night air, grounding her back into her body. Her room was small but tidy: a narrow bed tucked against the wall, a wooden dresser with a cracked mirror, a simple weapon rack holding her training blades and practice spear.

A single window looked out over the street. The glass was a little warped, the frame a little crooked, but moonlight always seemed to find that pane and spill over her bed. It felt like a blessing when she was a child.

Now it watched her wake from nightmares.

She stood and dressed by habit more than thought: a black tunic, slate-grey trousers, and her scuffed training boots. As she fastened her cloak—a deep bronze, the color of her House—a faint ache flared in her wrist. Her gaze dropped to the thin, pale scar that circled it like a whisper.

A reminder.

A lesson learned too young.

She let her thumb brush over it once, then dropped her hand.

When she passed the mirror, she paused.

Golden eyes stared back at her, reflecting more light than the room held. For a heartbeat, they glowed faintly, her wolf peering through, watchful and wary.

“Guide the hunt,” she whispered, the old prayer her mother had taught her. “Guard the heart.”

The words steadied her more than the reflection did.

The scent of woodsmoke and pan-fried bread reached her as she stepped into the hall. By the time she walked into the kitchen, the familiarity of it almost made the dream feel distant.

Almost.

“Morning,” she said softly.

Micah sat at the table, hunched over his plate like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to enjoy it. Fourteen, all limbs and bruised knees, his dark hair stuck up in wild directions. His amber-brown eyes—her mother’s eyes—lifted, bleary but warm.

“Hey,” he mumbled around a mouthful of eggs. “You’re up on time. That’s… new.”

She snorted and nudged his foot with hers under the table before sliding into the seat beside him. “Rude.”

Their mother moved between the stove and counter with small, efficient motions, as if careful not to draw too much attention even in her own home. The faint shimmer of her panther magic rippled under her skin as she reached for a pan, then faded just as quickly.

Elora didn’t look directly at the fading bruise on her mother’s cheekbone.

Her mother didn’t acknowledge it.

Micah’s eyes flicked toward it once, then away.

No one spoke of it.

Elora tore off a piece of bread and chewed, trying to keep her voice light. “You’re up early,” she said to Micah. “Didn’t think anything short of an earthquake could get you out of bed before sunrise.”

Micah shrugged, eyes dropping to his plate. “Couldn’t sleep. Dreams again.”

The words made something in her chest tighten.

“Same.” She tried to sound casual, even as the forest rose in her mind. “Maybe the moon’s just in a strange mood.”

Her mother hesitated for the slightest heartbeat at the sink. Then, as if nothing had happened, she continued washing dishes. “The moon reflects what’s already there,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t create it.”

Elora swallowed.

She pushed a bit of bread around her plate. “It’ll get better,” she said to Micah instead, forcing a smile. “You’ve still got time before your first shift. The closer it gets, the more your mind tries to prepare. That’s all.”

“You think I’ll be a panther like Mom?” he asked, a flicker of hope in his eyes.

The question soothed something raw inside her. “Wouldn’t surprise me,” she said. “You’ve got her eyes. And her quiet sneakiness.”

He huffed a soft laugh at that.

Their mother’s lips curved faintly where she stood at the counter. For a heartbeat, the shimmer of her magic brightened, the shape of a panther’s shadow rippling beneath her skin. Warmth and pride rolled off her in a wave so tangible Elora could almost feel it—

And then she did.

It brushed across her senses like a breeze, only it wasn’t hers. It was Micah’s. His awareness. His awe. His love for their mother, shining warm through the Spiritbond they shared.

Elora blinked, startled.

The bond had always been there—soft and quiet since they were children—but lately it was growing stronger. Clearer. Emotions slipping through without warning.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, breaking the moment.

Elora reached for it automatically. The smooth stone-and-metal casing hummed faintly with contained magitech, runes pulsing along the edges as the screen brightened at her touch.

A message hovered in glowing scribbles from Kailee:

You alive? I’m outside. If I have to honk the core again, I’m dragging you out in your sleep.

A laugh slipped past her lips before she could stop it. She typed back quickly:

I’m coming. Don’t scare the neighbors.

She grabbed her bag and swung it over her shoulder.

“I’m heading out,” she said, pausing in the doorway.

Her mother turned, drying her hands on a cloth. “Eat more at lunch,” she reminded automatically. “And watch out for the rain in the evening—the storms are shifting strange this week.”

“Yes, Mama,” Elora said softly.

Micah waved his fork like a banner. “Tell Kailee she still owes me a rematch.”

Elora ruffled his hair as she passed. “You only want a rematch because she let you win.”

He gasped. “She did not.”

“Oh, she absolutely did.”

Their mother smiled, the kind that never quite reached her eyes but tried. Elora held the image in her mind as she stepped outside—a small, fragile peace she didn’t trust to last but clung to anyway.

The air greeted her cool and damp. Their street, carved from living stone, curved gently toward the main road. Roots wound through the walls of homes, braided with copper conduits that glowed softly as magitech cores woke for the day.

At the end of the path, a carriage waited—sleek lines of dark wood and polished metal fused together, powered by a humming crystal core set between the front wheels. Runes etched along its frame pulsed in slow, steady rhythm, breathing faint light into the morning.

Kailee leaned against the side of it, arms folded, curls a bright gold halo in the grey light.

“Took you long enough,” she called. “I was about three seconds away from setting the horn to full blast.”

Elora’s lips twitched. For the first time since waking, the heaviness in her chest lightened. “You threaten violence, and yet you call me dramatic.”

“Because I’m charming when I do it,” Kailee said matter-of-factly. “You just brood.”

Elora rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through her at the sight of her best friend, solid and bright and here.

She opened the carriage door and climbed inside.

As the crystal core flared to life and the carriage hummed forward toward the main road, Elora glanced back once at her home—the small house, the crooked window, her brother’s face pressed to the glass, hand lifted in a quick farewell.

Her wolf watched too, silent and uneasy.

Something in the dream had shifted.

Something in her life was about to.

And Elora wasn’t sure if she was ready for any of it.