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Chapter 132: The Dagger and the Root
Last Updated:
2025-06-21 10:40:29
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Marked by the enemy alpha Chapter 134: The Sovereign’s Awakening
The ancient valley trembled beneath Aria’s feet. She stood at the heart of the Rootbound sanctuary, the silver flame of her mark pulsating across her chest like a heartbeat tethered to the land itself. The waters of the moonlit spring still clung to her robes, but the chill no longer touched her. She felt different—stronger, heavier with purpose. The Flame no longer danced within her; it bowed. Ysara watched her from across the sacred tree. Her pale eyes reflected pride, and sorrow. “You’ve awakened the bond,” Ysara said, her voice low with reverence. “But there is a price for such clarity.” Aria tilted her head. “What price?” “The Flame now answers to your soul. Your fear, your rage, your mercy—it amplifies all. If you fall out of balance, so does it.” Kael stepped beside Aria, protective instinct burning behind his golden gaze. “Then she won’t fight alone.” Ysara gave a faint nod. “No… but you will not be enough if she wavers.” Aria looked around at the Rootbound clan. Elder
Marked by the enemy alpha Chapter 133: The Last Flamebound Line
The echo of the second seal’s destruction rippled through the land like a wounded howl piercing the soul of the realm. Aria stood in the inner sanctum, her mark still glowing faintly with crimson heat. Every breath she took felt like fire curling through her veins—not her own, but something older, deeper, angrier. Lena examined the mark with trembling fingers, her scholar’s mind racing. “It’s responding to the seal’s destruction. You felt it the moment it was broken.” Aria nodded, wiping the sheen of sweat from her brow. “It wasn’t just pain. It was grief. Like something ancient had lost a piece of itself.” Kael stood at the chamber’s edge, silent and still. His jaw was tight, his hand never far from the hilt of his blade. He was ready for war. And this time, war was no longer metaphor. Tarek entered, a leather-bound tome in hand. “The Flamebound Lines. I found this buried beneath the Crescent library ruins. Written by a priest who survived the First Betrayal.” Aria’s head lift
Marked by the enemy alpha Chapter 132: The Dagger and the Root
The whispers didn’t stop. Even long after Aria left the chamber that held the monolith, their echo clung to the corners of her mind—soft, rhythmic, persistent, like the chant of forgotten prayers recited over hollow graves. "You are not the first… you will not be the last..." She stood on the eastern balcony of Velmora’s temple, the first rays of dawn brushing her skin. But warmth eluded her. The Flamekeeper’s mark on her chest, once vibrant with the Moonstone’s power, now shimmered with an unusual flicker—like the heart of the fire was second-guessing its own truth. Behind her, the heavy wooden doors creaked open. She didn’t turn. Kael’s familiar scent reached her before his voice did. “Couldn’t sleep?” “No,” she whispered. He stepped beside her, arms folded, watching the horizon. “The others are starting to talk.” Aria finally turned to him. “About what?” “The monolith. The voice. The roots.” She winced. “I can’t explain what I heard. It wasn’t language—it was memory. Old
Marked by the enemy alpha Chapter 131: Roots Beneath the Flame
The days that followed Aria’s walk through the Eclipse Path were filled with quiet awe. Word of her ascension as Flamekeeper spread quickly, carried on swift feet and swifter whispers. From the icy ridges of the Northern Scars to the mist-covered jungles of Aelwyn, the packs who once lived in isolation now turned their ears toward Velmora, toward the Alpha who had walked through shadow and emerged unbroken. But Aria did not feel like a savior. She walked the corridors of Velmora's restored temple with humility, not pride. The halls had been swept clean of ash and debris, but the walls still held echoes. Memories of a city that once thrived before betrayal consumed it. She stood before the altar where the Moonstone had pulsed and shattered, where her blood and Kael’s had mingled, where fire had reborn her. It still hummed beneath her palm. Not with heat—but with memory. “Flamekeeper,” came Lena’s voice, soft and reverent. Aria turned. “Don’t call me that. I’m still just… me.”
Marked by the enemy alpha Chapter 130: The Gathering of the Broken
The sun rose slowly over Velmora, gilding the fractured ruins in a soft, forgiving light. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, there was no scream of battle, no clash of steel or bone. Only the wind whispering through hollow archways and birds—real, living birds—returning to a sky that had known only ash. Aria stood at the center of the broken city, gazing at the fire-scorched stone where the Moonstone had ignited the First Flame. Now, only a faint shimmer remained, like dew caught in sunlight, a memory of something vast. She ran her fingers over the edge of the altar. Cold. But not lifeless. The magic was dormant, not gone. Sleeping, as if awaiting the right time to rise again. Behind her, voices stirred. Wolves from several packs had begun returning to Velmora, not for war this time—but to meet. To talk. To unify. The banner of Kael’s house, once feared by many, now flew alongside that of the Crescent Moon Clan, the Stonefangs, and even the reclusive Ashpeak Pack
Marked by the enemy alpha Chapter 129: Beneath the Light of the Broken Moon
The ruins of Velmora had gone still. No more howls tore through the sky. No more screams echoed in the twilight. Just silence—the kind that lingered after devastation, where dust hung in the air like breathless memory and the ground still radiated with the heat of battle. Aria stood at the altar, her palm pressed to the stone where the Moonstone fragment had dissolved in radiant fire. Its light had seeped into her, burning through her veins and settling deep in her bones. She felt changed, not in the way one does after war—but like something ancient had awoken inside her. Behind her, Kael placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. She leaned into his touch instinctively, grounding herself in the one thing that had remained constant through the storm—him. “We lost too many,” he murmured. Aria looked out over the battlefield, where wolves moved among the fallen. Some tended to the injured. Others carried the dead on stretchers woven from bark and cloth. The scent of blood, ash, and m
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