Mason — POV The fire was dying again. Second time tonight. I crouched low beside the pit, jabbing a charred stick into the embers like stabbing it would somehow make heat. The logs hissed. Sparks sputtered. A breath of wind hissed past the cavern mouth, and I cursed under it. Great. One more thing that wasn’t doing its damn job tonight. And yeah—I knew I was projecting. Truth was, I hadn’t slept. Couldn’t. Not with a mole somewhere in our ranks and half the Omegas still flinching every time a shadow shifted wrong. Not with that silver crest sitting in Asher’s cave like it didn’t want to start whispering in your sleep. I stood, rolled my shoulders, and turned to the map table we’d dragged out from storage. It was scratched to hell and half-warped from the last cave flood, but it still showed every ridge, cliffline, and passable path within twenty miles. A red marker pinched between my fingers. I moved it toward the eastern slope. I hated this part—waiting. Watching. Knowing
Asher — POVBy the time we reached the haven, the sky was starting to pale—bruised purple giving way to soft gold like the world didn’t just try to tear itself apart the night before.I hated mornings like this.Too quiet. Too calm.The kind of morning that made you question if the blood under your nails was real, or if the weight in your chest was just bad sleep and worse dreams.Spoiler: it wasn’t.The haven was an old outpost carved into the cliffs near the river, half-cave and half-fortress. The air smelled like moss and salt, and the walls pulsed faintly with warded magic we’d laid generations ago.We’d never meant to use it.But war doesn’t care about intention. It only cares about opportunity.The Omegas huddled in clusters near the inner sanctum—most wrapped in blankets or whatever rags they’d escaped with. Some were still bloody. Some were still shaking. A few hadn’t spoken a word since they arrived.I didn’t blame them.Demian was checking the north tunnels. Mason was pacing
Asher — POVThe bodies were barely cold.We hadn’t even cleared all the blood off our boots.And already, the next storm was on its way.“They’re targeting the Omegas now,” Mason said grimly, his voice tight as we stood around the map spread out across the ground, weighed down with stones and daggers. “Five confirmed attacks in two days. All in the outer territories.”“Cowards,” Demian spat. “Picking off the weakest because they know they can’t face us head-on.”“They’re not cowards,” I said quietly, jaw clenched as I marked another red ‘X’ on the parchment. “They’re strategic. And we’ve let them get too close.”Silence fell.The air was heavy with smoke and grief. Isabella stood behind me, arms crossed, her dagger still sheathed but her stance ready—like she was expecting the shadows to lunge at any second.She wasn’t wrong.“The packs in the east are already evacuating their Omegas to the river haven,” Demian continued, voice low. “But we need a full relocation. All of them. Every O
Isabella – POVThe gates slammed shut behind us with a finality that didn’t ask questions.No turning back now.The Vale smelled of cedar and ash, of dirt soaked in memory. My boots crunched over familiar gravel, the kind I hadn’t heard underfoot since I was a girl sneaking out to chase fireflies with Mai and getting caught by Mama before we even reached the tree line.Now, Mai sat silent in the carriage behind me, holding Mama’s hand like it was the last piece of her she could anchor to. Mama’s breaths were shallow. Her skin was pale and pulled tight, but she was still here.Still fighting.We all were.The sentry who had opened the gate trailed behind, eyes flicking toward the blade strapped at my hip. “Your… arrival will stir trouble.”“I’m counting on it,” I said without slowing.He blinked.I didn’t.---The outpost was half a mile in—stone-walled and bramble-wrapped, tucked between hills like a secret too dangerous to whisper aloud. My father used to call it the Vale’s throat. Y
Isabella – POVThe wind that morning didn’t whisper—it howled.It screamed through the tower’s broken wall like it was mourning the dead… or warning the living.I stood at the threshold, watching smoke rise from the distant treeline. The forest was charred, but not lifeless. Birds were already returning, hesitant but determined. Life always clawed its way back.Even after ruin.Even after war.I pressed a hand to my ribs. Each breath was a bruise. Each heartbeat a reminder: I was still standing.Behind me, Mason was rolling his shoulder with a wince as he scanned the outer perimeter. Blood crusted his temple. His blade was notched. But his stance… that hadn’t changed.He was still my wall.“Anything?” I asked.He nodded toward the woods. “They’re gone. Fully. For now.”“For now,” I echoed.Mai sat huddled near the firepit, cradling our mother’s head in her lap. Mama’s eyes had fluttered open briefly at dawn, glassy and dazed, but she was alive. Still burning.Just like the rest of us.
Isabella – POV The door shut with a resounding thud, but its echo pulsed through my bones like a warning bell. Demian was gone. But not gone. His scent still lingered in the doorway—rosemary and crushed steel and ash. That eerie, unnatural calm he wore like a crown had chilled the very foundation of this house. Mai was breathing too fast beside me. Mason still had his blade drawn, the tip trembling just barely. Not from fear. From restraint. I crossed to the window and watched the Crescent Moon guards vanish into the woods. Demian’s golden cloak was the last thing I saw before he melted into shadow. My voice came out low. Flat. “He’s going to raze this place to the ground.” “He won’t touch you while I breathe,” Mason said behind me. I turned, slowly. “He won’t touch me while I fight. And he’ll find out soon enough—I breathe just fine while swinging a blade.” --- The forest was no longer a barrier. It was a path. A map. A silent witness to the brewing war. Mai st