Chapter 2: Wolves in the Shadows

The fire in the great hall burned low, throwing long shadows against the stone walls. Serenya stirred, the scent of smoke and iron heavy in her lungs. She blinked, trying to steady the blur in her vision. Dozens of eyes followed her every movement.

Men and women in cloaks ringed the hall, their faces hard, their posture tense. Wolves in human skin.

She pushed herself upright on the bench, her body trembling with the effort. A ripple of murmurs spread among the gathered pack.

“Cursed.”

“She carries ill luck.”

“Why would he bring her here?”

Serenya gripped the edge of the bench, words lodging in her throat.

The heavy doors swung open, and silence followed. Kaelen entered, his presence pulling the air taut. His dark gaze cut across the room before settling on her. He strode to the fire and faced the murmuring circle.

“She is under my protection.” His voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it.

A few exchanged uneasy glances. Mireya stepped forward, her golden eyes gleaming in the half-light. “Protection from what? Or for what, Kaelen? You bring a stranger with no name but her own into our heart, and you expect us to trust her?”

“She gave me no choice,” he replied.

“You always have a choice,” Mireya snapped, her tone sharp enough to draw a flinch from the younger wolves. “The pack should not pay for your impulses.”

Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “It was not impulse.”

The silence grew heavy, filled only by the crackle of the fire. Serenya looked from one hard face to another, the weight of their suspicion pressing on her chest.

Mireya crossed her arms. “You risk us all.”

Kaelen didn’t blink. “Then I’ll bear the risk.”

The words landed like a challenge. The council shifted uneasily, some muttering under their breath. Serenya’s pulse quickened, her throat dry.

She whispered, almost to herself, “Why are they afraid of me?”

But every wolf in the hall heard it.

And none of them answered.

The hall emptied slowly after Kaelen’s command. One by one, the pack drifted into the corridors, though not without lingering glances at her. Suspicion clung to their steps like fog.

Serenya sat until the last voice faded. The silence pressed on her ears. She rose, legs unsteady, and made her way down a narrow passage. Torches lined the walls, throwing flickers across carved stone. The stronghold smelled of smoke, fur, and steel. It wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t hers.

Two women passed her, voices low. They stopped when they noticed her, their words cutting off sharp. One pulled the other along without a nod.

A child peeked out from a doorway farther down. Wide eyes, a head full of dark curls. He smiled faintly—until a stern hand snatched him back into the shadows. The door closed.

Serenya’s chest tightened. She wasn’t just a stranger here. She was a danger.

Her steps carried her to an open archway. Inside, the air was cooler, heavy with wax and dust. A single figure sat by a table of worn books—an old man in a simple robe, shoulders bent, eyes half-hidden by shadow.

“You shouldn’t wander,” he said without looking up. His voice was low, calm, yet it carried weight.

Serenya hesitated at the threshold. “I couldn’t stay there. They look at me as if I’ve brought a plague.”

He turned then, his gaze steady, kind but unsettling in its clarity. “They see what they fear. Nothing more.”

“Do you know who I am?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

“Not who,” he answered, leaning back with a faint smile. “What. And yes, I know enough.”

Her breath caught. “Tell me.”

“Not yet. You’re not ready for answers. But soon, the shadows will speak for themselves.”

His words left her more unsettled than comforted. She stepped back, her pulse racing.

A torch sputtered in the hall, its light flaring, then fading. Serenya turned toward the darkness ahead, unable to shake the sense that the walls themselves were listening.

The chamber they had given her was small, walls bare but for a single torch. Serenya curled under the wool blanket, her body heavy with exhaustion, yet sleep came jagged and restless.

At first it was nothing more than fragments—flashes of firelight, voices shouting in the dark. Then the fragments sharpened.

She stood in a field blackened by smoke. Wolves tore through the flames, their eyes wild, their fur slick with blood. Above them loomed a shadow, vast and formless, its voice curling through the air like ash.

Serenya…

The sound was both plea and command. She turned, searching for its source. Out of the smoke, a woman’s figure appeared—tall, raven-haired, emerald eyes burning. The woman lifted a hand, and the ground split beneath Serenya’s feet.

She fell.

Her scream ripped through the dream and into the chamber.

She bolted upright, drenched in sweat, the blanket twisted around her legs. Her heart pounded as though it meant to tear itself free. She pressed her palms to her face, but her hands shook too hard to hide it.

The door burst open. Kaelen filled the frame, eyes sharp, blade drawn. “What happened?”

Her voice broke. “Fire… I saw fire everywhere. Wolves screaming. A woman—”

He crossed to her, sheathing the blade, his weight sinking the edge of the bed. He caught her wrists gently, forcing her trembling hands down. “It was a dream.”

She shook her head violently. “No. It wasn’t just a dream. I felt it. I remembered it.”

His gaze searched hers, his jaw tightening. “What did you see?”

Before she could answer, footsteps pounded the hall. More voices rose—curious, unsettled, too many of them.

Kaelen’s eyes flicked toward the door. “They heard you.”

The handle rattled. Knuckles struck wood. The voices grew louder.

Serenya’s pulse spiked, her chest tightening as if the fire still burned inside her lungs.

The door banged open. Half the corridor spilled into the chamber—warriors, elders, even wide-eyed youths pressed close to see what had caused the cry. The smell of steel and sweat crowded the air.

“She woke the whole hall,” someone muttered.

“It’s her. She’s cursed.”

“She’ll bring the fire down on us all.”

Serenya shrank back against the headboard, her breath uneven. The memory of the vision clung to her skin, hotter than the torchlight.

Kaelen rose at once, placing himself between her and the gathering. “Enough.” His voice cracked like a whip, but the pack didn’t scatter. They only muttered louder.

Mireya pushed her way forward, her gaze sharp and accusing. “This isn’t just a lost woman, Kaelen. She’s trouble. You heard her. She screams in her sleep like a herald of war. And you expect us to lie quiet under the same roof?”

“She’s done nothing,” Kaelen shot back.

“Yet,” Mireya snapped.

The pack growled their agreement, the sound low and rumbling like thunder rolling in the distance. Fear spread faster than flame—Serenya felt it prickle against her skin.

Her voice broke as she forced words past her lips. “I didn’t choose this. I don’t even know what I am.”

For a moment, the murmurs faltered. All eyes fixed on her gray stare, unsteady but defiant.

Brother Aluin’s voice drifted from the back of the crowd, calm but heavy. “Dreams can be warnings, not curses. Sometimes we fear what we most need to hear.”

Mireya rounded on him, her tone sharp. “Or sometimes they are omens we’d be wise to cast out.”

The argument swelled, the chamber thick with heat and anger. Serenya pressed her fists against her temples, willing the voices to stop. But the vision rushed back unbidden—fire eating through stone, wolves falling one by one. The woman with emerald eyes calling her name.

Her lips parted, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “It’s coming.”

The room fell into silence. Every head turned. The torches hissed in the sudden stillness.

Kaelen’s heart pounded, but he didn’t speak. He only watched her, knowing the tide had turned and nothing would be the same when dawn came.