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When Stone Remembers Blood

Auteur: A.C
last update Dernière mise à jour: 2025-08-30 05:12:34

There was no sound in the whiteness. No form, no edge, no air. Only pressure, and memory, and the sharp, bone-deep certainty that something had broken, something old and sacred and binding, something that had once held the world in shape and was now unraveling thread by thread. Fenric floated in the middle of it, or stood, or knelt, he could not tell.

There was no ground to mark distance, no sky to define above from below. There was only the hum of his own blood, carrying too many names, too many stories, none of which had prepared him for this.

The last thing he remembered clearly was Syra’s voice, not cold, not cruel, but wide open with desperation. She had spoken the truth not the polished kind spoken in councils or passed down in oaths, but the unfiltered kind that came from grief, from longing, from the unbearable hunger to be seen.

Choose now, brother.

He had tried.

But the choice had been shattered before it could land.

Somewhere behind the whiteness, he felt Kaela’s presence,
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  • The White Wolf Luna   The Chase Beyond the Broken Gate

    The night had a weight to it that Fenric could feel pressing against his chest as they broke into the open, the shattered gate behind them groaning on its hinges like a dying thing while the courtyard swelled with movement, the silver glimmer of wolf eyes shifting and circling in the dark as though they were the breath of the forest given form. The cold air burned in his lungs and the ground seemed to tilt under his feet with every stride, yet he did not slow, for behind him the sound of claws striking stone had already joined the thunder of pursuit, and the knowledge that they were closing was enough to keep his legs from faltering.Kaela ran at his right side, her blades still drawn, her face set into the kind of determination that admitted no thought of stopping, though even she could not ignore the way the howls followed them in perfect rhythm, as if every wolf in the city had been bound to a single, unseen will. Syra kept pace on his left, her violet eyes fixed not on the path

  • The White Wolf Luna   When the Howls Turned Closer

    The chamber still trembled faintly from the last echo of the oath, the torches burning low as if some unseen hand had cupped them, their light dim but steady, throwing long restless shadows over the walls. Fenric could feel every heartbeat in the room as though the air itself had thickened, carrying the pulse of each wolf in slow, deliberate rhythm, yet beyond that heavy stillness there was the growing presence of the howls outside, no longer scattered or distant but moving together in a pattern that suggested intent.Kaela had not moved from his side, though her shoulders were drawn tight, her fingers flexing once and then stilling on the hilts of her blades, her eyes searching his face not for answers but for signs that he had not already stepped beyond her reach. Syra stood a few paces away, her gaze shifting between Fenric and the figure that had led him to the oath, her expression unreadable, though there was the faint glimmer of something almost like pride in the set of her jaw.

  • The White Wolf Luna   The One Who Stood Before the Moon

    The figure stepped into the full light, and the flames of the torches bent subtly toward it as though drawn by a force older than wind or breath, its eyes a deep, unbroken shade of silver that reflected every face in the room, including Fenric’s, with unnerving clarity. It wore no armor, no mark of rank or allegiance, yet the weight of its presence was so complete that even the Bonebinder, who had faced the fire without flinching, shifted one step back, his gauntleted hand curling into a fist.No one spoke at first, because there was nothing in the room that felt as though it could contain words. Fenric could hear his own heartbeat, steady and deliberate, as though it too had slowed to match the pace of the figure’s approach. The Elder’s hunters remained in place, blades still raised but without the will to strike, their gazes fixed on the newcomer with a mixture of fear and awe, and the Elder himself had stepped away from Fenric without seeming to notice he was doing it.Syra’s eyes

  • The White Wolf Luna   Shadows at the Oath Table

    The moment the first of the Elder’s hunters stepped into the chamber, the torches along the walls flickered violently as if the flames themselves felt the weight of what was about to unfold, and Fenric’s eyes locked on the leading figure, a wolf with silver in his hair and an expression carved from stone, his gaze sweeping across the room until it found Fenric and refused to let go. Behind him came six more, their armor engraved with symbols of the Cycle, their movements silent and coordinated, the smell of old blood clinging to them like a second skin.Syra did not move from Fenric’s side, her posture neither defensive nor yielding, her hands at her sides yet tense enough to strike in an instant if provoked, and the Bonebinder turned slowly to face the intruders, his presence filling the chamber with a stillness that made even the hunters hesitate for a heartbeat before advancing.The silver-haired Elder’s voice was calm but carried the authority of decades of unquestioned command. “

  • The White Wolf Luna   The Weight of the First Oath

    The cold of the underground chamber did not seep into Fenric’s bones as one might expect, it wrapped around him like an old memory, familiar and heavy, carrying scents that no one alive should have known, scents of pine forests long burned, of fur soaked in rain before the moonlight was ever claimed by the Packs. He could feel the stone beneath his boots holding the pulse of something ancient, not magic, not divine, but blood, thick and patient, waiting for someone to listen. Syra stood at the far end of the circular hall, her violet eyes fixed on him without wavering, the torchlight flickering between them as if uncertain whether to serve as witness or accomplice.“You hear it,” she said, her voice quiet yet certain, as though speaking to him across centuries rather than mere paces, “and you do not ask what it is, because part of you already knows.”Fenric’s jaw tightened, his mind replaying the visions he had fought to push away, visions of wolves with no moon above them, their eyes

  • The White Wolf Luna    And Those Who Refuse to Remember

    The firelight burned low in the old forest, casting long shadows across a ring of wolves who had not stepped foot in the Den in many seasons, not because they had forgotten their place, but because they had never accepted the one given to them.These were not rogues. They were not Nullborn. They were something far more dangerous.They were wolves who remembered, selectively. Wolves who had tasted freedom, then spat it out in favor of order. Wolves who had once run at the front of their packs, who had built empires of obedience from broken bloodlines, and now watched that empire fall apart beneath the weight of truth.At the center of their circle stood Malrick.His fur was gray at the muzzle, streaked with age, but his body remained hard, his eyes unflinching. He had not set foot near the central council in nearly a decade, not since he was stripped of Alphahood after the Scorchbone Accord collapsed beneath his feet. He had not returned when the Cycle began to bend. He had not even fl

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