INICIAR SESIÓNPack Rule #21: If the Beta says, “Nobody move,” the Alpha has already moved.
Three patrol wolves sprinted toward the equipment shed. I watched them disappear around the corner and allowed myself a tiny flicker of hope. Maybe… Just maybe… We could resolve today’s emergency without adding another incident report to the filing cabinet. Above me, Rowan was still balanced on the branch, talking softly to the tiny kitten. “It’s okay, little buddy.” A timid meow answered him. “You don’t have to be scared.” Another meow. The branch swayed. Every wolf below sucked in a breath. Rowan didn’t even seem to notice. I did. “Rowan.” “Yes?” “Stop leaning.” “I’m not leaning.” The branch creaked. “…The tree disagrees.” He looked down. “Oh.” He shifted his weight exactly one inch. The branch creaked louder. Several wolves instinctively stepped backward. “I think the tree’s nervous,” one patrol wolf whispered. “The tree has excellent instincts,” I replied. Beside me, Elder Martha unfolded another napkin and calmly handed me a blueberry muffin. “You should eat.” “Elder Martha…” “You’ll think better.” “I’m currently thinking about early retirement.” “Exactly.” I accepted the muffin. Stress calories still didn’t count. Across the clearing, the goat wandered over to the training dummies. He sniffed one thoughtfully. Head-butted it. Then looked strangely pleased with himself. One of the younger wolves pointed. “…Should someone stop him?” “No.” “Why not?” I took another bite of muffin. “I can only manage one disaster at a time.” The goat won. The dummy lost. A loud crack echoed through the field. No one reacted. We had priorities. Moments later the patrol wolves returned, carrying the long wooden ladder between them. “We’ve got it!” Finally. Progress. “Bring it over here,” I called. They hurried toward the tree. Halfway there… One patrol wolf tripped over a tree root. The ladder lurched sideways. The wolf behind him tried to compensate. Instead… The ladder spun like a giant windmill. “LOOK OUT!” Every wolf scattered. The ladder narrowly missed Elder Martha’s picnic basket. The goat casually stepped aside without even looking up. I blinked. “…Did the goat just have better reflexes than my patrol?” Apparently… Yes. The ladder finally hit the ground with a loud thud. Silence settled over the clearing. I looked at the patrol wolves. They looked at me. “I’m adding training exercises,” I said. “Fair.” Above us, Rowan cleared his throat. “So…” I looked up. “…Yes?” “I have good news.” “…I’m terrified to ask.” “I’ve got the kitten.” The tiny orange ball of fur peeked out from inside Rowan’s jacket. Its little nose twitched. Its frightened eyes blinked down at the crowd below. A collective… “Awwww…” rolled through the clearing. Even I smiled. Just a little. The kitten purred. Rowan’s entire face softened. “There you go.” He gently scratched behind its tiny ears. “See? Everything’s okay.” I sighed. This… This was why nobody could stay angry with him. He’d risk his own neck for complete strangers. Or frightened kittens. Or goats trapped in hammocks. Or probably squirrels if they asked nicely. His heart simply outran his common sense. Every single time. I folded my arms. “Rowan.” “Yes?” “You’ve done the heroic part.” “Thank you.” “Now do the intelligent part.” “…What’s that?” “Come down.” He glanced below him. Then at the kitten. Then back at us. “…About that…” Every muscle in my body tensed. “What.” “I can’t.” The clearing fell silent. “You…” “…can’t?” He smiled apologetically. “I may have climbed a little higher than I realized.” I closed my eyes. Counted to ten. It wasn’t enough. “How high?” “I don’t know.” “Estimate.” “…Very?” One of the patrol wolves quietly whispered, “I respect his honesty.” “I don’t,” I answered. Elder Martha patted my shoulder. “Deep breaths.” “I’m trying.” “No…” she said with a smile. “…you’re plotting.” She wasn’t wrong. The ladder was finally stood against the tree. I inspected the angle. It reached… Almost. Three feet short. I stared. Then stared some more. “Please tell me…” I whispered. “No.” A patrol wolf swallowed nervously. “…It’s the tallest ladder we own.” I looked toward the sky. “If anyone up there likes me…” I paused. “…this would be an excellent time to prove it.” Right on cue… The kitten sneezed. Rowan laughed. The branch groaned. And somewhere behind me… The goat began chewing on the bottom rung of the ladder. I slowly turned. “…Don’t.” The goat blinked. Chewed harder. Crunch. I pointed at him. “You.” Crunch. “We are going to have a conversation.” The goat ignored me completely. Of course he did. Because apparently… Chaos traveled in pairs. One Alpha. One goat. The universe had a sense of humor. Unfortunately… It was usually at my expense.PACK RULE #33:If the entire mountain answers when you ring an ancient magical bell, do not immediately ring it again.Addendum:This rule exists because Rowan asked.The bell’s note should have faded.It didn’t.Mason stood beneath an impossible sky with the ancient bell clenched in one hand and watched the sound move through the sanctuary.Not echo.Move.It rolled across the silver trees in a visible ripple, shaking leaves from branches that had not felt wind in decades.It crossed the blue river.Passed through ruined cottages.Touched every bell hanging from every doorway, branch, arch, and broken stone.And one by one—they answered.Not loudly.Not all at once.One.Then another.Then ten.Then a hundred.Then so many Mason could no longer tell one note from the next.Behind him, Theo whispered, “Oh.”Mason didn’t look away from the thing wearing a dead child’s face.“That an encouraging oh?”“No.”“Of course it isn’t.”The creature stood half-emerged from the shattered sanctua
PACK RULE #32: If the monster you’ve spent seventy-three years fearing turns out to be guarding the door, do not assume the thing behind the door is friendly. Addendum: Especially if it smiles. The smile stayed. That was the worst part. Not the borrowed face. Not the bodies and memories shifting beneath its skin. Not even the fact that something they had spent seventy-three years calling the Hollow had apparently been trying to keep this thing locked away. The smile. It stretched across the First Pathkeeper’s stolen face as though it had practiced being human and gotten almost everything right. Almost. Mason stared at it. “Well.” Rowan’s voice came quietly from beside him. “I don’t like his face.” “That makes two of us.” “I specifically don’t like what he’s doing with it.” “Rowan.” “I’m just saying. Faces shouldn’t bend there.” The smile widened. Rowan lifted his knife. “See? He heard me.” Mason didn’t take his eyes off the thing. “You
PACK RULE #31: If an ancient evil finally acquires a body, hitting it is no longer considered a theoretical solution. Addendum: Gerald would like the record to reflect that he has supported this policy from the beginning. ⸻ The thing wearing Ronan’s face lunged. Mason didn’t move in front of Bramble. Every instinct he possessed screamed at him to. Protect. Block. Take the hit. Do what Ronan had done for decades. But Bramble’s small hand was wrapped around his. And Ronan’s real voice still lived somewhere inside Mason’s memory. Don’t carry him. Walk with him. So Mason stayed exactly where he was. Beside him. “Together,” Mason said. Bramble’s markings exploded green. The creature hit the light— —and screamed. Not Ronan’s scream. Not Garrick’s. Not anything human. The sound came from too many throats at once, layered one over another until the burning lodge windows rattled in their frames. The creature flew backward and struck the remains of a stone chimney hard e
PACK RULE #30: If you discover an ancient enemy may have become the evil everyone has been trying to contain for seventy-three years, do not immediately touch anything else. Addendum: This includes bells, doors, suspicious rocks, glowing symbols, mysterious artifacts, and anything Rowan describes as “probably fine.”⸻ Nobody touched Garrick’s bell. That made Mason suspicious. Usually Rowan touched something. ⸻ Mason looked at him. Rowan noticed. “What?” “Nothing.” “You’re staring at me.” “I’m impressed.” “By?” “You haven’t picked it up.” Rowan looked at the silver bell lying in Anwen’s hand. Then back at Mason. “I have survival instincts.” “Recent development?” Claire snorted. Rowan pointed at her. “See? She thinks I’m funny.” “No,” Mason said. “She thinks I’m funny.” Claire looked between them. “I’m going to let both of you have this.” ⸻ Bramble sat near Corwin’s grave. Gerald pressed against one side of him. Cricket occupied th
PACK RULE #29: If a dead Pathkeeper sends a magical warning, verify the death before obeying the warning. Addendum: “He sounded convincing” is not verification. Nobody touched the map. For nearly a minute… Nobody touched anything. The black symbol remained beside the southern sanctuary. The words beneath it did not fade. The Last Pathkeeper. Mason stared at them. Then at Maeve. “You said he died.” Maeve nodded. “He did.” “You’re certain.” “I saw the body.” That changed the room. Rowan leaned forward. “You were there?” Maeve looked toward Ronan’s broken bell. “Yes.” ⸻ Bramble sat between Claire and Martha. Gerald had wedged himself beneath Bramble’s chair again. Only his ears were visible. For once… Mason approved of the hiding place. ⸻ Maeve slowly sat. “The Last Pathkeeper was named Corwin.” Anwen’s expression changed. “You know the name.” Maeve nodded. “Everyone in the Ash Wolves did.” ⸻ Mason opened his notebook.
PACK RULE #28: When an ancient archive reveals that someone spent decades protecting one small Keeper, breakfast is mandatory before anyone attempts to unravel seventy-three years of secrets. Addendum: Coffee counts as emotional support. It does not count as breakfast. This clarification exists because of Mason. Mason had slept for three hours. Technically. His body had been in a bed for five. His brain had participated for approximately three. The remaining two had been spent staring at the ceiling while one name repeated itself. Ronan. By sunrise, Mason had given up. He dressed. Made coffee. Found his notebook. And walked toward the village square. He made it twelve steps before Martha opened her front door. “Sit.” Mason stopped. He looked toward her porch. Martha stood in the doorway wearing a robe, slippers, and the expression of a woman who had already won an argument that had not yet begun. “I’m going to the archive.” “No.” “I wasn’t ask







