The Rising Howl

The storm hit just after midnight—no thunder, no warning. Just a sharp, roaring wind and rain that tore into Blackthorn like the sky was trying to wash it clean. Ezra stood on the ridge overlooking the courtyard, drenched, the cold cutting through his clothes like knives. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Couldn’t.

The fire in his chest burned hotter than the storm.

His mark pulsed, steady and loud, thudding like a second heartbeat under his skin. Louder than the rain. Louder than the whispers.

He felt them—every glance, every breath held when he walked past. The younger wolves recoiled like he was made of glass and gunpowder. The elders suddenly had meetings they’d never mentioned before. Even Mira, bold and unfiltered, kept her words clipped and her distance longer.

Ezra didn’t blame them. Not anymore.

A week ago, he was just another omega trying to find his footing. Now?

He was something else. A gate. A key. A question none of them wanted to answer.

“Thought I’d find you up here,” Kael said from behind, quiet but firm.

Ezra didn’t turn. “Figured you would.”

Kael stepped up beside him, soaked through like he hadn’t bothered with shelter either. “You should be inside.”

“So should you.”

Kael shrugged, eyes on the storm. “You’re out here. I’m not letting you face it alone.”

Ezra almost smiled. Almost.

“We’re not exactly winning over hearts and minds these days,” he said.

“They’re scared,” Kael replied. “That doesn’t mean they’re right.”

Ezra rolled his shoulders, wincing as his mark sparked—just a flicker of gold beneath his skin, fast but sharp. He sucked in a breath, jaw tight. “It’s worse tonight. I’m not even doing anything, and it’s like... something’s trying to get out.”

Kael turned to him, steady and close. “Then we don’t let it.”

“You don’t stop a tide by standing in the water.” Ezra’s voice was quieter now. “Whatever this is… it’s older than me. Older than Blackthorn. Elen said I was the last. That means everyone before me—”

“Didn’t have you,” Kael cut in. “They didn’t have a choice. You do.”

Ezra didn’t answer.

He didn’t have the words.

Not before the howl shattered the night.

Low. Echoing. Wrong.

It didn’t sound like a wolf. It felt like one. Felt like claws around his ribs. Like a voice in his bones.

Kael tensed. “Where?”

Ezra’s blood had already answered. “The chapel.”

---

They found Mira outside the training ring, sword in hand, shaking under the rain.

“I heard it too,” she said before they asked. “It came from the chapel. But whatever it was… it wasn’t one of us.”

Ezra didn’t stop to explain. He was already running, his heart pounding, the mark searing hotter with every step. Kael and Mira followed without question, feet slamming through mud as lightning forked above.

The chapel loomed through the trees—silent, solid, waiting.

The candles inside were already lit.

And the altar, once cracked straight through, was whole again. Repaired. Blood-dark and gleaming.

Ezra stopped in the doorway, chest heaving. “Someone’s used it.”

Mira’s voice barely rose above the rain. “Who?”

Footsteps. Behind them.

Alric emerged from the dark, barefoot, soaked, blood trickling from his hands. His eyes were wide, but hollow—like he’d seen too much, or not enough.

Ezra rushed him. “What did you do?!”

Alric didn’t resist. Didn’t even blink. “The gate was stirring. You weren’t ready. I tried to give us time.”

“You fed the altar,” Kael said, horrified. “You gave it blood.”

Ezra stumbled back like he’d been punched. “You think that buys time?”

Alric swayed on his feet. “It was... all I could offer.”

Then he collapsed, convulsing. Mira caught him as he hit the ground, her face pale with shock.

The candles guttered. The wind stilled.

And the earth shifted—just once. A long, deep groan beneath the stone.

Ezra’s mark exploded in gold and crimson, a jagged line of obsidian racing up his arm. The pain hit like fire and ice at once, his body folding in on itself. He screamed as the world turned white.

He was somewhere else.

No chapel. No rain.

Just blackness. And flame.

And a wolf.

Caged in fire and shadow, chains snaking around its limbs like roots. Its eyes were his. But not him. Not even close.

It looked at him—and smiled.

“You are the last thread,” the wolf said, its voice raw stone and flame. “When you break, I rise.”

Ezra gasped, yanked back into his body, coughing hard. Kael was crouched over him, gripping his shoulders. “Ezra! Look at me!”

Ezra’s hands trembled. The glow on his skin wouldn’t fade. “It’s awake,” he whispered. “It’s inside me now.”

And deep beneath his skin, it howled.

---

Dawn broke without ceremony.

The storm had passed, but the tension hadn’t. The estate was under lockdown. Elders whispering. Wolves posted at every door. The chapel was sealed again, but the damage wasn’t undone.

Alric hadn’t woken up.

Ezra sat curled on the windowsill in his room, his arms wrapped tight around his knees. He couldn’t feel warmth anymore—only the constant hum of the mark under his skin.

Kael sat nearby, just close enough to be there, but not smothering. Waiting. Watching.

Ezra finally spoke, voice barely there. “I think I’m losing pieces of myself.”

Kael reached for his hand. Held it like it was fragile and burning at once. “Then I’ll hold the pieces until you remember who you are.”

Ezra wanted to believe him.

He really did.

But under the quiet, beneath Kael’s grounding hand, the wolf smiled again—closer now. Sharper.

Waiting.

---

Ezra's bloodline vow has cracked wide open, awakening a creature not just ancient—but inside him. The altar wasn't just a seal. It was a prison. And now, the prisoner is stirring. As the next moon rises, will Ezra still be Ezra—or the vessel of something far older and far more dangerous?