Semua Bab Marked by the enemy alpha: Bab 151 - Bab 160

The tundra stretched before them like a graveyard of forgotten gods—white, silent, and endless. Wind howled across the icy plains in ghostly whispers, weaving through broken stone monoliths half-buried in snow. Each gust seemed to carry a voice, ancient and indecipherable, brushing cold fingers across Aria’s skin even beneath her furs. No sun pierced the sky above—just a vast dome of pale gray cloud, unmoving and indifferent. They had crossed into the Whispering Tundra. Three days since they left the Heartspire, and already the world behind felt like a fading dream. The warmth of the valley, the charred battlefields, the fires—they were gone now. All that remained was ice. And something buried deep beneath it. Kael rode at her side, his breath forming steady clouds as his eyes scanned the white horizon. He wore his obsidian armor beneath a cloak of midnight wolf fur, his sword strapped to his back and gloved hand resting near the hilt. Lena followed a few paces behind, eyes glow

The clouds tore open above the ridgeline, revealing a fractured sky streaked with violet and steel-gray. Aria stood at the edge of the plateau, her cloak snapping in the wind as she stared down into the vast, broken expanse below—Stormreach, a land untouched by time and legend alike. Below, jagged peaks jutted out from the earth like the ribs of an ancient beast. Thunder murmured from the depths, and the air shimmered with wild magic—uncontrolled, unpredictable, alive. “This is where the Crescent magic was born,” Lena said as she stepped beside Aria. “Before the Vein was channeled. Before the Council turned it into law.” “And it’s where the Stormborn vanished,” Kael added. He stood a few paces back, his expression unreadable as always, though his eyes swept the skies above like a wary hawk. Aria turned to them. “Then if Mira’s next move is here, we have to be faster.” They descended at dawn. The path into Stormreach was no true path at all—just winding cliffs, fallen ruins swall

The air still crackled with the aftershock of stormfire as the first light of dawn crept over the blood-soaked battlefield. Where once a towering spire had reached into the heavens, only broken shards of obsidian remained—jagged and glowing faintly with residual energy. Aria stood in the center of the ruin, her eyes fixed on the motionless figure of Mira lying just feet away. Her chest rose and fell steadily, the corrupted stormlight that once surged through her veins now extinguished. But Aria didn’t move toward her. Not yet. The wind whispered, no longer howling with fury but sighing as though in mourning. The wolves who had fought by her side began to shift back into their human forms, bruised and bloodied but victorious. Across the field, Stormborn healers moved among the wounded, their chants low and rhythmic, woven with old magic and soft laments for the dead. Kael approached from behind, his steps measured. His armor bore scorch marks and blood, but his presence remained un

The sky above the Stormcradle Ridge burned gold as dawn broke over the remnants of a war-weary world. Below, the high cliffs whispered with the voices of returning spirits, the wind rippling like the memory of wolves long gone. The ceremony beneath the earth was over, but its aftermath was only just beginning. Aria stood atop a ledge overlooking the gathering plains. Below her, Crescent and Echo wolves moved side by side—tentatively, warily, but without the violent mistrust that had marred their history. The obelisk’s memory had changed something fundamental. Not instantly, not entirely. But deeply. Word had spread faster than wildfire. The First Memory had awakened. And with it, the lost truth of their shared origin. Still, not all were ready to accept it. “You’re summoning the High Council?” Kael asked, stepping beside her. His arms were crossed, gaze focused on the gathering forces. Aria nodded. “We have to. They need to hear it from us. If we delay, the old guards will twi

The moon hung low above the Veinwind plateau, casting silver light upon the battlefield still slick with blood. Silence reigned in the aftermath of the duel. Not the stunned silence of disbelief—but a sacred stillness. One forged from centuries of waiting, and broken in a single, decisive hour. Kael stood over Theron’s fallen body, his breathing labored, wounds crusted with drying blood. Beside him, Aria sheathed her blade, her amber eyes locked on the fading glimmer of moonlight that had anointed her final strike. Neither spoke. They didn’t need to. In that quiet, in the tremble of the mountain wind, their bond sang louder than any cry of victory. Then, the murmurs began. From behind the rebel ranks, whispers threaded like ivy through stone. “They defeated Theron.” “The Moon bore witness…” “Did you see the light? It chose her…” Lucien stepped into the circle, his voice firm but low. “Stand down,” he called to the Hollowflame warriors. “You’ve lost your Alpha. You’ve lost the