All Chapters of Marked by the enemy alpha: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

The whispers didn’t stop. Even long after Aria left the chamber that held the monolith, their echo clung to the corners of her mind—soft, rhythmic, persistent, like the chant of forgotten prayers recited over hollow graves. "You are not the first… you will not be the last..." She stood on the eastern balcony of Velmora’s temple, the first rays of dawn brushing her skin. But warmth eluded her. The Flamekeeper’s mark on her chest, once vibrant with the Moonstone’s power, now shimmered with an unusual flicker—like the heart of the fire was second-guessing its own truth. Behind her, the heavy wooden doors creaked open. She didn’t turn. Kael’s familiar scent reached her before his voice did. “Couldn’t sleep?” “No,” she whispered. He stepped beside her, arms folded, watching the horizon. “The others are starting to talk.” Aria finally turned to him. “About what?” “The monolith. The voice. The roots.” She winced. “I can’t explain what I heard. It wasn’t language—it was memory. Old

The ancient valley trembled beneath Aria’s feet. She stood at the heart of the Rootbound sanctuary, the silver flame of her mark pulsating across her chest like a heartbeat tethered to the land itself. The waters of the moonlit spring still clung to her robes, but the chill no longer touched her. She felt different—stronger, heavier with purpose. The Flame no longer danced within her; it bowed. Ysara watched her from across the sacred tree. Her pale eyes reflected pride, and sorrow. “You’ve awakened the bond,” Ysara said, her voice low with reverence. “But there is a price for such clarity.” Aria tilted her head. “What price?” “The Flame now answers to your soul. Your fear, your rage, your mercy—it amplifies all. If you fall out of balance, so does it.” Kael stepped beside Aria, protective instinct burning behind his golden gaze. “Then she won’t fight alone.” Ysara gave a faint nod. “No… but you will not be enough if she wavers.” Aria looked around at the Rootbound clan. Elder

The wind howled like a beast mourning its dead. The Daggered Range rose before them, jagged peaks piercing the storm-laden sky, their snow-covered faces glistening with veins of faint orange light. From afar, it looked like the mountains themselves were bleeding fire. Aria narrowed her eyes, pulling her hood tighter against the icy gale. The cold here wasn’t just weather—it was alive, as though the mountains resented their presence. “We’re close,” Lena said, studying the glowing ridgelines. “The first Vein pulses beneath these peaks. I can feel it.” Kael stepped beside Aria, his breath a mist in the air. “This place isn’t just dangerous. It’s cursed.” “No,” said Tarek grimly, adjusting his blades. “It’s guarded.” Their small company of Rootbound warriors remained quiet as they entered the winding mountain pass. Silence, thick as fog, descended the farther they moved. Even the birds were gone. Only the crunch of boots against ice and the occasional crackle of flame from Aria’s ma

The Shardlands were unlike any place Aria had ever seen. Shards of crystal jutted from the cracked earth like the spines of a great beast, each one refracting not just light, but memory. Beneath a sky of fractured moons and bleeding clouds, the landscape shimmered with a thousand versions of itself—past, present, and future folding into one. It was a place where time bled, and the truth shattered. Aria stepped forward cautiously, Kael by her side, Lena and Tarek trailing close behind. Their Rootbound allies had refused to come this far. Even the flame-warded scouts had turned back at the edge of the crystal border. “This land is wrong,” Kael murmured. “My wolf—he doesn’t know what’s real here.” “Because nothing is,” Lena said, tightening her grip on her staff. “The Shardlands were once a sacred ground for the Seers of the Moon. Then Sylara bled the first Flame into the soil. Time has never recovered.” Tarek glanced sideways at Aria. “And the Vein is under this mess?” Aria nodde

The winds over the Vale of Mourn no longer whispered of death. Where once ash blanketed the ground, now green shoots fought their way free, stretching timid fingers toward the sun. The Hollow Flames were gone—cleansed by Aria’s hand, by their unity, by the truth of their memories reclaimed. But peace, Aria knew, wasn’t built in a single act. It required vision. It demanded sacrifice. And it began with trust. --- Two weeks had passed since the last Hollow vanished. The group returned to the Rootbound capital of Thalor’Ren, the heartwood city carved into living trees and suspended bridges. There, word of the sealed Veins had already reshaped the world. Factions were stirring. Old alliances were fracturing. And in the void left by Sylara’s fall, power-hungry opportunists were emerging. Aria stood on the central platform of the Elderglade, facing emissaries from seven fractured territories—packs, tribes, and realms once united loosely under the Crescent Empire or defiant in resis