LOGINKion had not dreamed in years.Sleep, yes—thin, restless stretches of unconsciousness broken by aches in his bones and the slow tightening of age—but not dreams. Not like this.This dream dragged him backward.He stood inside the council chamber as it had been on the night Elise Thorne was condemned. The memory returned with cruel clarity: the banners hanging stiff and heavy, the torches burning too bright, the air thick with judgment and fear disguised as order. He remembered where he had stood, how his hands had rested calmly behind his back while a young woman knelt at the center of the room, wrists bound, hair loose and damp with sweat.Except this time, he was not standing behind the council table.This time, he was on his knees.The stone floor was cold. His palms were pressed flat against it, scraped raw, fingers trembling as chains bit into his wrists. He could feel his own heartbeat in his ears, loud and uneven, the way Elise’s must have been that night.No.Not his.Hers.Th
The chamber where Elder Sera kept the old records was not meant for visitors.It lay beneath the Temple of Waterlight, past corridors Elise had never been allowed to enter before, sealed behind a door etched with symbols older than the Moonbreathers themselves. Even Ryn had never crossed its threshold. When Sera led Elise down the narrow stone steps, her pace was slow, deliberate, as though each step carried the weight of centuries.Elise followed in silence.Her thoughts were still tangled in blood and memory—the feral wolf’s screams, Becky’s voice echoing in the vision, the certainty that what plagued the mainland had never been an accident. Rage simmered beneath her skin, controlled only by the discipline Sera had drilled into her over weeks of training.At the bottom of the steps, Sera stopped.“This is where truth is kept when the world refuses to remember it,” she said, placing her palm against the door.The stone shuddered, light threading through the carved runes. The door ope
The feral wolf was kept beneath the island.Not imprisoned in chains or cages, but bound by light.Elise felt it the moment she stepped into the chamber. The air was wrong—too heavy, too thick, like something rotting beneath clean water. The chamber itself was carved deep into the stone, circular and wide, its walls etched with old Moonbreather symbols meant to restrain corrupted energy rather than flesh. At the center stood a shallow basin of water, glowing faintly silver.Inside the basin, the feral wolf lay unmoving.It was massive. Larger than any normal Lycan Elise had ever seen, its body twisted and swollen in unnatural ways. Patches of fur were missing, replaced by blackened skin that looked burned from the inside out. Its chest rose and fell erratically, each breath rattling like something broken.Elise stopped a few steps short.Her stomach turned.“That’s… still alive?” she asked quietly.Elder Sera stood beside her, staff grounded firmly against the stone. “Barely. We’ve ke
Elise did not expect memory to return gently.It came the way fire does—without warning, without permission, and without mercy.It began during a routine sparring session, one Elise had already completed a dozen times without incident. The training ground was quiet, carved from pale stone and surrounded by shallow water that reflected the moon in broken fragments. Ryn stood opposite her, blade raised, stance relaxed but alert.“Again,” he said. “Same sequence.”Elise nodded and stepped forward.Her movements were sharp now, controlled. Silverlight hummed in her hand, responding instantly to her intent. She deflected Ryn’s first strike, pivoted, countered low, forced him back two steps.“Good,” he muttered. “Again.”They reset.This time, as Elise raised her blade, something shifted.Not in the air. Not in the water.Inside her.The stone beneath her feet vanished.Suddenly she was standing in Archview’s lower quarter, smoke hanging thick in the air. She could smell burning wood. Hear
The first week nearly broke her.Elise learned that quickly—on the third morning, when her legs failed beneath her and she collapsed knee-deep in the surf, the Silverlight blade slipping from her fingers and clattering against stone. The water surged instinctively toward her, reacting to her exhaustion, but she raised a shaking hand and forced it back.“Don’t,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “Not now.”Ryn watched from higher ground, arms crossed, expression unreadable.“You’re not commanding it,” he said. “You’re begging it.”Elise didn’t look at him. “Feels the same when you’re drowning.”“That’s the problem,” he replied. “You’re still training like someone afraid of sinking.”She pushed herself upright, breath coming fast. Salt stung her lips. Her muscles burned in places she hadn’t known existed.“I survived the sea,” she snapped. “I think I’ve earned the right to—”“The sea spared you,” Ryn cut in sharply. “It didn’t submit to you.”That shut her up.She reached for the bla
The forge was older than the island’s temples.Elise felt it the moment she stepped inside.The air was thick with heat and salt, metal and something sharper beneath it—moon-charged stone, worn smooth by centuries of hands that had shaped more than weapons. The walls were carved directly into the island’s rock, veins of pale crystal threading through the stone like frozen lightning. They pulsed faintly as Elise passed, responding to her presence whether she wanted them to or not.Ryn stood at the center of it all.He was younger than Elise expected. Barely older than herself, if that. His hair was dark, pulled back roughly, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hands were scarred—not the clean marks of training accidents, but the deep, layered scars of someone who had spent years working with dangerous things.He didn’t look up when Elise entered.“You’re late,” he said.Elise blinked. “I didn’t know I was expected.”Ryn snorted softly, still working the metal laid across the anvil. “







