LOGINTiberiusI feel it before I see her.It’s subtle at first—a pressure change in the air, the way a storm announces itself long before the clouds roll in. Royal blood does that. It bends the world just enough for those of us born to sense it to notice.But this time… it’s wrong.Not wrong as in dangerous.Wrong as in more.I pause in the corridor outside the inner garden, one hand resting against the stone wall. My wolf stirs uneasily, not in warning, but in recognition. My pulse slows as I let myself listen—not with ears, but with the part of me tied to lineage and old power.There it is again.Elara.And something else.Something new.My breath stills.That shouldn’t be possible. Royal bloodlines don’t multiply quietly. They announce themselves with earthquakes, wars, omens written in fire across the sky. A second presence—small, contained, folded inward—doesn’t make sense.Unless…Goddess above.I straighten slowly, every piece of the puzzle snapping into place with unsettling clarit
ElaraI don’t say the word.I don’t even let myself think it at first.Because once you name a thing like that, it becomes real in a way you can’t undo. It takes shape. It demands choices. It draws eyes.And right now, the last thing Elara needs is the weight of certainty pressing down on her.So I do what I’ve always done best.I observe.I calculate.I prepare.She’s sitting on the edge of the low bench by the window, shoulders drawn in, hands resting over her stomach like they belong there. The motion isn’t dramatic. It isn’t panicked.It’s instinct.That’s what sets my wolf on edge.Elara has always moved like someone surviving—reacting to danger, bracing for impact, flinching before the blow ever landed. This is different. This is quiet. Purposeful. Protective.I lean against the stone wall across from her, arms crossed, forcing myself to keep space between us even though every part of me wants to close it.“Tell me exactly what you’re feeling,” I say.She lifts her head, meeting
ElaraI don’t realize something is wrong at first.That’s the strangest part.The corridor smells like smoke and cold stone and the faint metallic echo of lightning. Wolves move around us in tight, controlled patterns—repairing wards, murmuring to one another, pretending not to stare at me the way they always do now. Like I’m something fragile and volatile all at once.Kael walks beside me, close but not crowding, his presence a steady weight at my shoulder. Ronin has already peeled off to bark orders, his voice sharp and familiar in a way that almost makes this feel normal.Almost.I take three steps.Then four.And then my vision tilts—not enough to knock me down, just enough to make the world feel… softer. Blurred at the edges. Like I’ve stepped half a heartbeat out of sync with everything else.I stop.Kael stops instantly.“Elara?” His voice is low, careful. Not alarmed yet, but tuned to me in a way that makes it impossible to hide anything for long.“I’m fine,” I say automatical
WitchI know the moment it happens.Not because the Veil screams — it has been screaming for days now — but because the fabric of my work hiccups. A stutter in the spell lattice. A tremor where there should be none.I still.Power pools around me like dark water, coiling through my fingers, sinking into the etched circle beneath my bare feet. The Veil pulses — irritated, unstable, resentful.Something has changed.Not broken.Shifted.I reach outward, letting my consciousness slip between realms, following the threads I spun so long ago. Bloodlines. Curses. Tethers. The exquisite web I crafted with patience measured in decades.I find Kael first.Always Kael.The cursed Alpha burns like a storm-star — bright, furious, impossible to extinguish. His curse is still there, still biting, still coiled around his heart like a loyal serpent.But it is thinner.Frayed.Something has been feeding on it.I snarl softly.Then I follow the pull.Elara.The girl who was supposed to be empty.The gi
ElaraI can still feel the cold on my skin.Not physically — not anymore — but in the place beneath the skin, the place my wolf lives. The hall is quiet now, scorched stone still smoking, bits of frost glittering across the floor where reality tore open like wet paper.Kael stands between me and everything else, chest rising and falling too fast, his jaw tight, shoulders rigid. He hasn’t shifted back fully; his eyes remain the gold of a wolf ready to lunge again if anything twitches wrong.Ronin wipes blackened blood from his forearm, muttering under his breath in a language I don’t understand but assume is a curse.The bodies — or whatever counts as bodies — are gone. Ash. Dust. Nothingness. As if they never existed.Except they did.I felt them.I felt their intent.And worse… I felt something inside me respond.Kael turns toward me, and even before he reaches me, I feel the tension roll off him. His hands frame my arms gently, but the pressure is firm enough to steady my shaking le
ElaraRonin’s face tells me everything before he even speaks.That sharp stillness in his posture — the one that means blood is seconds away from hitting stone — snaps my wolf fully awake inside my chest.“Elara stays behind me,” I growl, already moving.She doesn’t argue. She steps in close, fingers gripping the back of my shirt like instinct knows better than fear. Good. I can work with that.Ronin shuts the door behind us. “We’ve got movement on the eastern ridge.”My jaw tightens. “Rogues?”“No.” His eyes flick briefly to Elara, then lock back on me. “Something worse.”My wolf snarls, claws itching under my skin.“How many?”“Three confirmed. Maybe more. But they didn’t cross the boundary like rogues would. They slipped it.”That stops me cold.Only two things slip pack wards without setting off alarms.Stormwalkers.Or Veil-touched.I feel Elara stiffen behind me before she even says a word.I glance back just enough to see her face. “You feel that pulse again.”“Yes,” she whispe







