The Dream Beneath the Mountain

That night, I dream.

At first I don't realize it's a dream everything feels too real. The cold under my feet. The scent of stone and earth. Somewhere far off, water dripping in a slow, steady rhythm.

I'm standing inside a vast cavern. Darkness stretches in every direction, the ceiling swallowed by shadow. Ancient pillars rise out of the ground like the trunks of enormous trees; some cracked, some collapsed entirely, and yet the cavern still stands, like something refuses to let it fall.

I turn slowly. My footsteps echo, traveling farther than they should, and the silence that follows feels wrong. Watching. Waiting.

A strange pressure settles over me. Not fear recognition. Like I've been here before, somehow, somewhere.

Then I hear it.

Clink.

A metallic sound, soft and distant. I follow it deeper into the cavern, the air growing colder with every step.

Another sound. Clink. Then another.

Chains.

The realization lands all at once I'm hearing chains. Massive ones, thick as tree trunks, the sound rolling through the dark like something enormous shifting in its sleep. A chill crawls up my spine, and every instinct tells me to turn back.

I keep walking anyway. That's always been the problem with curiosity, sometimes it's louder than fear.

The dark eventually opens into a vast chamber, and I stop dead. My breath catches.

A mountain of black stone rises from the center of the cavern not a real mountain, something built, or grown, or contained. Chains wrap around it in layer after layer, hundreds of them, maybe thousands, every link etched with silver symbols. They vanish up into the darkness overhead.

And at the center of it all, something moves.

A low rumble rolls through the chamber. The chains tremble. Dust sifts down from the stone.

Something enormous is under there. Something alive. It hits me all at once the chains aren't holding the mountain together. They're holding something inside it.

The cavern shudders. A crack splits the stone, and golden light spills through — warm, brilliant, powerful. For one second I swear I see an eye. A single golden eye, watching me. Not hostile. Not kind either. Just watching, ancient and endlessly patient.

The air itself seems to vibrate. Then a voice rolls out of the dark — deep, rough, powerful enough to make the stone tremble under my feet.

"Still asleep..."

I freeze. The voice sounds like it's coming from the bottom of an ocean, and somehow every word still reaches me perfectly clear.

"Too soon..."

The chains rattle. Several links flare silver, the symbols burning bright for a moment before the voice starts to fade.

"Find..."

Silence. The chamber shudders around me.

I take a step forward. "Find what?"

No answer.

I take another step, and the chains explode with light all at once. Pain shoots through my skull, and the dream shatters around me.

I wake up gasping. Moonlight spills through the window, my blankets twisted around my legs, sweat soaking through my shirt. I just sit there for a while, listening.

The village outside is quiet. Most of Blackthorn Pack is asleep only the occasional patrol moves through the dark.

A dream. Just a dream.

At least that's what I want to believe.

Then I notice my hand hurts. I look down, frowning, and find a thin red line crossed across my palm, like something sharp pressed into it.

My pulse picks up. I clench my fist slowly. The mark doesn't go anywhere.

Real. Not imagined.

The room feels colder than it should.

---

Morning brings no answers. Just more questions.

I spend most of breakfast trying to convince myself I'm not losing my mind. It doesn't really work.

"You look terrible."

Lyra drops into the seat across from me. Helpful, as always.

"Good morning to you too."

"Seriously." She frowns. "You didn't sleep."

I poke at my food. "Bad dream."

"What kind of dream?"

The chained mountain flashes through my mind. The golden eye. The voice. I hesitate.

"A weird one."

"Very descriptive."

"I try."

She rolls her eyes, and before she can push any further, a horn sounds outside. The whole dining hall goes quiet. Every conversation stops at once. People turn toward the entrance.

A second horn follows. Longer. Urgent.

My stomach tightens. Something's wrong. Warriors are already on their feet, scouts right behind them, and the easy calm of the morning disappears in about three seconds flat.

Lyra stands up. "So much for breakfast."

We hurry outside with everyone else. The village square is already filling up — dozens of wolves gathering around the fountain. Alpha Darius stands at the front, and his expression alone is enough to make my stomach drop further.

Then I see the scouts. A few have just come back from patrol. One's injured. Another's clothes are stained with blood.

The crowd goes silent. My father steps forward, and his voice carries easily across the square.

"A body was found near the northern boundary."

Murmurs ripple through the gathering.

"The markings Elder Mara warned us about were found again."

The murmurs stop cold. Fear replaces them almost instantly, and even I can feel it, whatever it is — everyone here clearly understands the danger better than I do.

Everyone except me. Again.

Elder Mara steps up beside him. Her face looks unusually pale, her voice barely above a whisper, and somehow the entire square still hears it.

"The signs have returned."

Dead silence. Nobody moves. I catch a few of the older wolves trading looks — recognition, and something close to dread.

Elder Mara swallows hard, and then she says the words that make the whole square go still.

"The Seal is weakening."

I have no idea what that means. But judging by everyone's faces, it's very, very bad news.

And somewhere deep inside me, something stirs. Just for a second — a faint pulse, like a heartbeat from something asleep, buried far below where I can reach it.

Then it's gone, and I'm left standing frozen in the crowd, wondering why those words feel so familiar.

And why, for one brief second, I swear I hear a growl echo from somewhere very far away.