Chapter 8

POV: Lucan

The stillness of my chamber was suffocating, wrapping around me like an oppressive weight. The fire in the hearth had burned low, its dying embers casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. Sleep evaded me, no matter how many times I closed my eyes and tried to push away the thoughts clawing at my mind.

Mira.

Her name echoed in my thoughts, entwined with the impossible pull of the bond. I could still see her green eyes, fierce and unyielding even in fear, and feel the electric connection that had surged between us. It was more than instinct—it was fate, inescapable and binding.

I shifted restlessly, running a hand through my hair. This bond wasn’t just a complication; it was a threat to everything I had built, to the delicate balance of power I maintained. To bond with a human was to defy the very core of our traditions, to invite rebellion within the rebellion.

Yet the bond thrummed beneath my skin, its rhythm like the beat of a second heart. I hated it. I needed it.

Finally, exhaustion overtook me, dragging me into a restless slumber. But peace did not follow.

The forest stretched endlessly around me.

Its ancient trees loomed overhead, their gnarled branches tangling in a lattice that blocked out the sky. Mist clung to the ground, silver and thick, muffling every sound. The air smelled of damp earth and decay, sharp and pungent, as though the forest itself were dying.

“Mira,” I called out, my voice echoing through the mist.

A shadow flickered between the trees, fleeting and quick. My pulse quickened, the bond tugging at me like a thread pulling taut. I strained to see through the haze, and then she appeared.

At first, she looked as she had during the protest: human, fragile, her green eyes alight with both fear and defiance. But there was something different now, something unearthly in the way the mist seemed to ripple around her, bending to her presence.

“Lucan,” she whispered, her voice soft but powerful. It carried a mournful weight, weaving through the air like a song.

I stepped toward her, but the ground trembled beneath my feet. The mist swirled violently, forming shapes—snarling wolves, faceless figures, shifting symbols. Roots twisted and grew, curling upward like skeletal fingers clawing at the sky.

Mira’s body began to change. White fur sprouted across her skin, her limbs stretching and reforming. Her eyes burned brighter, now emerald flames, as she stood before me—a wolf of impossible beauty and power, her coat like freshly fallen snow.

She growled, low and haunting, a sound that reverberated through the forest.

“Mira!” I called, my voice filled with both awe and desperation.

Without warning, she lunged past me, a blur of white cutting through the mist.

“Wait!” I shouted, spinning to follow her.

But she was gone, swallowed by the forest.

The ground beneath me shifted again. The gnarled roots thickened, twisting into walls that caged me in. The mist darkened, pressing against me like an unbearable weight. Then Mira returned.

She was human again, her face streaked with blood and tears. Her hands trembled as they clutched a blade slick with crimson.

“You can’t save them all,” she said, her voice breaking. “You can’t save me.”

“What are you talking about?” I demanded, my chest tightening.

She stepped closer, the blade slipping from her hands. It fell to the ground and sank into the earth, as though the forest itself claimed it.

“You are the choice,” she said, her voice heavy with meaning. “Accept the bond, and you change everything. Deny it, and you doom us all.”

The earth trembled, her words like a death knell. Mira’s form blurred again, shifting back into her wolf shape. This time, her pristine white coat was stained with blood. She stood atop a mound of bodies—wolves and humans alike. Her growl echoed through the forest, filled with rage and sorrow.

Before I could reach her, a deep, booming voice broke through the chaos.

“Do you see now?”

I turned and found myself face-to-face with an enormous wolf, his silver fur glowing faintly in the mist. His eyes held the weight of countless lifetimes, ancient and knowing.

“Fenrir,” I whispered, recognizing him from the stories I had been told as a child.

The great wolf inclined his head. “You stand at the crossroads, Lucan. The bond is not a gift—it is a trial.”

“A trial for what?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“For the future,” Fenrir said. “The bond is a bridge, a thread connecting two worlds. It can unite or destroy. Your choice will determine which.”

The ground cracked beneath my feet, fissures spreading outward as the forest began to collapse. The mist tore at the trees, at me, at Fenrir, until it felt like the entire world was unraveling.

“Why her?” I shouted over the chaos. “Why now?”

Fenrir’s gaze didn’t waver. “Fate does not wait for convenience. The bond has chosen. What comes next is up to you.”

The mist thickened, wrapping around me like chains. Mira’s voice echoed through the void, haunting and desperate.

“Choose wisely, Lucan.”

I woke with a gasp, my chest heaving, sweat slicking my skin. The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers, their faint glow casting eerie shapes on the stone walls.

The dream was vivid, too real to dismiss as mere imagination. My body still hummed with the electric pull of the bond, the connection more insistent than ever.

Fenrir’s words echoed in my mind: The bond is not a gift—it is a trial.

I ran a hand over my face, trying to steady my breathing. This wasn’t just about me and Mira. The bond was more than a personal connection—it was a choice that carried the weight of two worlds.

The future of wolves and humans alike balanced on this thread of fate. It could heal centuries of division or ignite a war that would destroy everything.

My chest tightened as the implications settled over me. Mira wasn’t just my mate. She was the key to something far greater than either of us.

I stared into the dying embers, their light flickering like the fragile hope the bond represented.

The bond had already begun to unravel the world I knew. Whether it would weave a new one—or tear everything apart—would depend on the choices we made.

And I wasn’t sure I was ready to make them.