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The Weight of Chains
Huling Na-update:
2025-09-23 00:57:19
Pinakabagong kabanata
The White Wolf Luna The Weight of His Name
The forest did not welcome him. Every branch seemed heavier, every shadow thicker, every root reaching across his path as though the land itself recoiled from the crown pressed into his blood. Fenric walked with steady steps, but each movement carried the weight of a hundred eyes watching, though none dared reveal themselves. He felt no pursuit, no whisper of wolf or beast, only the hollow echo of his own breath, and it was in that hollow silence that his thoughts grew sharp and merciless.He could still feel the cold imprint of the throne’s stone upon his hands, the jagged grooves that had cut into his palms when he pulled free. He had expected pain, even death, but what lingered instead was something far more unbearable, the knowledge that he had survived, that the crown had not consumed him as it had so many before. That survival itself felt like betrayal.The voice of Kaela haunted him first, the memory of her certainty, her blade raised not against him but for him, the promise in
The White Wolf Luna The Crown of Ashes
The moon no longer shone with steady light, its fractured glow bled across the night sky like a wound that refused to close, and every wolf that lifted their eyes toward it felt the pulse of dread sinking deeper into their bones. No howl rose, no voice dared to break the silence that settled across the Den, for each one of them knew instinctively that the Cycle they had been bound to since their first breath was unraveling, and the unraveling had a name.Kaela’s hand trembled as she clutched her blade, her eyes locked upon the jagged black fissure that marred the moon’s surface. She spoke softly, almost to herself, though the others heard her words as clearly as if she had shouted them. “He is still tied to it, I feel him, I feel his blood beating in the rhythm of that crack, but it is no longer the Fenric we knew.”Raelin’s growl rumbled low, her body pacing with restless fury, her voice sharp with bitterness. “We followed him into every battle, we bled beside him, we trusted that hi
The White Wolf Luna The Shattered Howl
The scream that tore from Fenric’s throat did not end when his voice broke, it carried itself through stone and marrow until the chamber itself seemed to echo with it, each wall answering him in hollow resonance as if all the voices of the First Alphas had joined his cry. His body was rigid on the throne, his fingers clawing against the stone arms as though he might rip himself free of the heat searing into his flesh, but the throne did not release, it consumed, and every heartbeat was a hammer driving the truth deeper into him.Syra stood motionless, her torch flickering wildly, her expression a mixture of triumph and anguish. She whispered more to herself than to Fenric, though her words carried in the silence between his cries. “He takes what I could not, he bears what I was denied, and yet it will destroy him if he does not learn to bend before it bends him.”The Bonebinder’s chains clattered across the floor as it leaned closer, the hollow sockets of its fused mask catching the f
The White Wolf Luna The Crown’s Weight
The throne loomed before Fenric as though it had grown from the very bones of the earth, its jagged surface resisting any notion of comfort or power, demanding only endurance. The torchlight from Syra’s hand flickered weakly across it, shadows dragging long across the chamber, as if reluctant to reveal the full shape of what stood there. Fenric could feel the pull in his blood grow stronger, a rhythm pounding in his chest that matched the silent heartbeat of the stone.He whispered, not to Syra, not to the Bonebinder, but to himself, as if testing the sound of the words against the silence. “If I sit, I am no longer only myself. If I refuse, I will never know what they buried. Either choice breaks me.”Syra’s reply came soft yet sharp, like silk wrapped around steel. “Every Alpha that came before you made a choice, Fenric, and each one told themselves the same lie, that by refusing they could remain untouched, that by sitting they could remain unbound. Both roads are chains, but one i
The White Wolf Luna The Hollow Crown
The air beneath the earth grew colder with every step Fenric took, the faint light of the surface gone entirely now, leaving only the dim flicker of torches that Syra carried, their flames burning with an odd hue that seemed neither natural nor conjured by silverlight. The tunnels were carved into the stone long before any Pack had walked these lands, walls etched with symbols that Fenric did not recognize but that stirred in him an ache, as though something in his blood knew them even if his mind did not. The Bonebinder walked ahead of them in silence, each drag of its chains echoing through the cavern like the tolling of a distant bell, steady and unrelenting, a rhythm that reminded Fenric of his own pulse.Syra’s voice broke the silence, calm but edged with a heaviness that had lingered ever since she called him brother. “You feel it too, do you not, the weight pressing in on your chest, the pull behind your eyes, the ache that tells you these walls are older than the Pack, older t
The White Wolf Luna The Weight of Chains
The Bonebinder stood in the clearing with chains hanging from his burned arms, and the sound of their slow drag across the earth carved fear into the marrow of every wolf. The fissure behind him glowed faintly red as if the earth itself bled in protest at what had been released, and the ash-scent carried on the wind clung to every breath like a reminder of rot and endings. Kaela did not lower her blade, though her arms trembled from the effort of standing so near to a being that should have been nothing more than ash and memory. Her voice was unsteady yet sharp as she spoke.“You may claim to have opened the path for Fenric, but you will not claim him for yourself. He chose to walk into the dark, but he walked with his own will, not yours. You will not twist that choice into chains.”The Bonebinder’s ember eyes turned slowly toward her, and the cracked mask upon its face seemed to shift as though the bone itself breathed. “Choice is an illusion given to those who are too fragile to be
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