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The Voice in the Bones

last update Huling Na-update: 2025-07-18 04:53:54

Ezra didn’t sleep. Not even close.

He tried—buried himself under the heavy furs Kael had dropped on him like a quiet apology, counted his breaths like they owed him peace, squeezed his eyes shut until they burned.

Didn’t work.

The mark on his arm still throbbed from the pain-bind. Not just the sting of a cut—but something deeper. Like it was pulsing in his bones, echoing with something ancient and not entirely… his.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The whispers were back.

Not the kind that came from hallways or passing wolves. No. These were in his head. Slithering at the edge of his thoughts. At first, they sounded like leaves rustling too far off to understand. But slowly, through the long stretch of night, they grew louder. Sharper. Pressing against his skull like they were trying to crawl out.

By the time dawn started bleeding gray through the window, Ezra was sitting on the edge of the bed, fists clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. His heartbeat thumped fast, wild. He couldn’t calm it.

He looked down at his arm. The scab from the rite was already hardening, but the mark underneath—the strange, faint circle—was still there. Not just a scar. It hummed under his skin like it had a pulse of its own. Like it was awake.

A knock came. Just one.

Then Kael stepped in without waiting—like always. Not barging, not asking. Just there, like he couldn’t help but anchor the room with his presence.

“You didn’t sleep,” he said. Not a question.

Ezra didn’t bother pretending. “Would you? With voices camping out in your skull?”

Kael’s eyes flicked to his arm, then back to his face. “The mark. It’s… doing something?”

Ezra hesitated, jaw tight. “It’s not just glowing. It’s talking. Or something like that.” He tapped the side of his head. “Whispers. Feelings. Stuff that doesn’t belong to me. Like someone else climbed inside.”

Kael’s face didn’t change, but something in his shoulders stiffened. Barely. Ezra caught it.

“You know something,” Ezra said, voice sharper than he intended. “You’ve seen this before. What the hell is this mark doing to me?”

Kael didn’t answer right away. He moved to the chair across from the bed, sat down, elbows on his knees. He stared at the floor like the answer might be carved into the stone.

“A long time ago,” he said finally, voice rough with memory, “there were wolves… different ones. Not ruled by the moon, not bound by the packs. Touched by something older. They called them Veilwalkers.”

Ezra blinked. “That sounds made-up.”

Kael looked up. “They could hear the dead. Feel echoes. Walk between what’s real… and what’s beyond it.”

Ezra’s skin went cold. “You think I’m one of them?”

“I think something chose you before I ever did.”

That sentence landed like a stone in Ezra’s chest. Heavy. Unwelcome. But… it fit.

The fire in the corner crackled, soft and dying. The air between them stretched, thick with silence.

“Can that even happen?” Ezra asked, voice quieter. “Now? After all this time?”

Kael nodded slowly. “If the Veil’s thin in your blood. If something buried is waking up.”

Ezra stood up and started pacing. Arms crossed tight, jaw clenched. “So I’m not just the weird outsider anymore. I’m the cursed omega with ghosts in his bloodstream.”

“You’re not cursed,” Kael said, rising too. “You’re… becoming.”

Ezra paused mid-step. “Becoming what?”

Kael stepped in, close enough that Ezra could feel the heat rolling off him in waves. His voice dropped, soft but certain.

“You. Just more of you.”

Ezra’s throat tightened. For a second, the chaos stilled. Not because the questions had answers—but because Kael believed what he said. And somehow… that mattered more.

Before Ezra could speak, the door flew open—slammed back so hard it echoed through the room.

Alric stood in the frame, hair mussed, coat half-buttoned, and his trademark scowl locked in place. “Hate to break up your existential crisis,” he snapped, “but we’ve got company.”

Kael’s head snapped toward him. “Who?”

“Hollow Pines,” Alric said. “Scouts. Just a few. Not hostile. Yet.”

Kael’s whole frame tightened, his stance shifting like a wolf on the verge of shifting.

Ezra’s pulse kicked up. “Why are they here?”

Alric’s gaze landed on him, flat and suspicious. “They’re asking questions. Said they had a vision. Said they’re looking for someone they called…” He paused, then added with extra weight, “The Marked One.”

Ezra’s stomach bottomed out. The mark on his arm burned, hot and sudden, like it was answering some secret call.

Kael’s voice came low, steady. “Did they say his name?”

“No,” Alric said. “But we both know who they meant.”

The whispers inside Ezra flared up again—just a flash this time. Not words. More like a warning.

Then silence.

Ezra swallowed hard. “What do we do?”

Kael didn’t hesitate. “We hear them out.”

But as he turned toward the door, Ezra staggered. His mark pulsed like a heartbeat, and this time, one voice rose through the quiet inside his head—clearer than it had ever been.

Not a whisper. A growl.

They’re coming for you.

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