Chapter 8: The Vault of the First Guardians

The air at the summit of Mount Voros was thin, freezing, and smelled heavily of ancient magic and old snow. Jagged obsidian rocks jutted out of the glaciers like frozen blades, guarding the entrance to a massive stone archway embedded directly into the mountainside.

"This is as far as my men go," Nikolai said, gesturing for his squad of rogue elites to hold position at the edge of the snowy ridge. "The guardian magic in this cavern will incinerate anyone without royal blood who steps within ten feet of the seal."

I pulled my heavy bear-hide cloak tighter around my shoulders, looking up at the colossal stone doors. Intricate carvings of howling wolves, crescent moons, and ancient Ethiopic-style runes covered the weathered surface, untouched by time.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked, looking back at Nikolai. His dark hair was frosted with snow, his golden eyes watching me with quiet intensity.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," he replied softly, stepping closer to shield me from the biting mountain wind. "The moment you press your hand against that stone, the magic will wake up. It will test your spirit, Elora. It will demand to know if you are worthy of your bloodline."

I nodded, taking a deep breath that burned my lungs, and stepped toward the archway.

As my boots crossed the threshold into the ancient cavern, the air temperature surged from sub-zero to scorching heat. The crimson mark on my collarbone ignited, blindingly bright, casting dark crimson light across the obsidian walls.

Before me stood a massive circular altar made of solid white marble, carved with a shallow basin in the shape of a crescent moon.

I reached into my belt, drawing my hunting dagger. Without hesitation, I dragged the silver blade across the palm of my hand. Hot, royal blood welled up immediately. I stepped forward and pressed my bleeding palm directly into the marble basin.

Sizzle.

The moment my blood touched the white stone, a deafening crack of thunder shook the entire mountain. Lines of pure violet fire raced out from the altar, shooting along the floorboards and ascending up the colossal stone doors. The ancient runes roared to life, glowing with an blinding, ethereal brilliance.

Who is it that calls upon the First Kings? a thunderous, ancient voice echoed in my mind, vibrating through every bone in my body.

"Elora of the Crescent Clan," I declared, my voice echoing with unshakeable authority. "Last heir of the Royal Line. I come to claim what was stolen from my people."

A blinding flash of light engulfed the cavern. The heavy stone doors groaned, unlocking after centuries of silence, and began to slowly grind open.

Inside the dark sanctuary sat three glowing pedestals. On the central pedestal rested a magnificent midnight-black blade forged from star-iron, vibrating with raw, unbridled Alpha magic—the Sovereign's Edge. Beside it sat the Sun-Moon Amulet, capable of nullifying any Alpha's aura, and an ancient scroll containing the recorded history and blood oaths of the Northern Packs.

Nikolai stepped into the cavern, his jaw dropping as he took in the radiant artifacts.

"You did it," he whispered, staring at me with awe.

I reached out and wrapped my bloodied fingers around the hilt of the Sovereign's Edge. A massive wave of ancient power surged into my veins, healing the cut on my palm instantly.

I turned back to face the entrance of the mountain, looking north toward the Bloodmoon Citadel.

"The wedding is in three days," I said, my eyes glowing a terrifying, radiant violet. "It's time to claim my crown."