Semua Bab Rejected by the lycan king: Bab 91 - Bab 100

No one spoke Mira’s name anymore.Not even me.It was as if saying it might call back the girl who’d laughed in the Hollow baths, who’d raced up the garden spires barefoot and fire slicked, who’d cried in my arms the day we swore to protect each other.But Tavrin wasn’t Mira.And I wasn’t sure I was still Ophelia either.1. When Silence Becomes a StormIn the days after the second seed bloomed, the Grove grew quiet.Not peaceful.Tense.Like a garden on the edge of frost.Rafael patrolled less. Elira spoke less. Seris stopped using Spiral sigils in public entirely. The bearers whispered their rituals now, watching the trees for something none of us could name.And beneath it all, the Spiral threads the magic veins that connected us began to waver.Subtle at first. A delay in a healing weave. A flicker in a sigil. A voice echoing too long in a thread-bound message.Then worse.2. The Spiral Thread TearsThe first rupture happened in the eastern Grove.Three young bearers had joined h

1. The Gate BeckonsThe Gate didn’t open like a door.It unfolded like memory a spiral of threads parting just wide enough for me to step through.I felt the world stretch around me, every cell pulled into light, unstitched, rearranged.And when I breathed again, the Grove was gone.I stood in a realm of nothing not darkness, not silence, but absence.And at the center of it: the first Spiral.Not a tree. Not a flame.A heartbeat.It pulsed once and I remembered the fire that made the first bearers, the wordless rhythm that became sigils, and the warmth that broke time into song.I fell to my knees.Not from pain.From awe.2. A Voice Without Shape“You returned.”The voice wasn’t male or female. It didn’t echo. It simply existed.I rose slowly.“Who are you?”“You are.”“What is this place?”“This is the question you feared to ask.”Before me, the space shimmered. A thousand moments flickered in the spiral around me Tavrin as a child, Rafael’s sacrifice, my first rejection, the f

1: The Storm at DawnThe first storm after the Spiral’s return didn’t come with thunder or lightning it came with silence.Not the kind that follows peace.The kind that hums beneath the surface, warning of a shift not yet seen.I woke before the sun touched the Grove. Rafael was already gone from our tent, his scent lingering faintly on the blanket beside me. I sat up, listening. No birdsong. No rustle of leaves. Only the soft hum of threads above, like they were holding their breath.Seris met me near the Flame Bridge.“They’re coming,” she said, without preamble.“Who?”“Outsiders.”I stiffened. “From the north?”She nodded. “Several caravans. Mixed clans. Unmarked.”For weeks, word had spread of the Spiral’s awakening. We knew it would draw attention, but we had hoped for more time.“They’re not marching,” Seris added. “They’re... waiting.”I didn’t like the sound of that. “What are they waiting for?”“You.” 2: The Meeting of DustWe met the outsiders at the edge of the Whisper

1: Threads of FireThe wind shifted before the threat came.I stood on the ridge where Rafael once dreamed of fire, watching the northern trail where the Dustborn had first appeared. Now it carried another scent sharp, bitter, iron-soaked. It curled through the trees like a blade too long unsheathed.“They’re close,” Seris said beside me, her eyes narrowed.“How many?”She didn’t answer with numbers. Only, “Too many to pretend it’s not war.”Behind us, the Grove stirred uneasily. The Spiral’s hum had changed deeper, like a drumbeat echoing in stone.Rafael joined us, his jaw tight. “Scouts report armed movement. Wolves, not feral but trained. Markings we don’t recognize.”Kiva, who had remained silent since her warning, now stepped forward. “They’re not coming for dialogue. They’re coming for dominance.”“And you know this how?” Elira asked sharply, arms crossed.Kiva didn’t flinch. “Because we’ve seen them before. They tore through the Red Circle near the borderlands. Left no surviv

1: Into the FrostThe winds howled louder the farther north we traveled. Trees thinned until only skeletal birches remained, their white bark like bones scraped raw against the sky. Snow fell in whispered curses, flurries that never ceased, clinging to our cloaks and lashes. The Hollowed Peaks lived up to their name carved by ages and forgotten battles, haunted by memories no one spoke aloud.We moved as a circle, just as we had planned. Rafael walked beside me, his presence steady and silent. Seris led from the front, flanked by Tavrin and Kiva. Elira brought up the rear with two sentries who had once guarded the Spiral’s inner sanctum. Each of us bore more than weapons. We carried oaths, wounds, and names of the dead.But the closer we came to the Bone Verge, the heavier the air grew. Magic clung to it like mold."This land doesn't want us," Elira murmured as we passed a broken obelisk. Ancient runes were etched into its surface, long since fractured by rot. "It remembers its last