Semua Bab The White Wolf Luna: Bab 151 - Bab 160

The air beneath the earth grew colder with every step Fenric took, the faint light of the surface gone entirely now, leaving only the dim flicker of torches that Syra carried, their flames burning with an odd hue that seemed neither natural nor conjured by silverlight. The tunnels were carved into the stone long before any Pack had walked these lands, walls etched with symbols that Fenric did not recognize but that stirred in him an ache, as though something in his blood knew them even if his mind did not. The Bonebinder walked ahead of them in silence, each drag of its chains echoing through the cavern like the tolling of a distant bell, steady and unrelenting, a rhythm that reminded Fenric of his own pulse.Syra’s voice broke the silence, calm but edged with a heaviness that had lingered ever since she called him brother. “You feel it too, do you not, the weight pressing in on your chest, the pull behind your eyes, the ache that tells you these walls are older than the Pack, older t

The scream that tore from Fenric’s throat did not end when his voice broke, it carried itself through stone and marrow until the chamber itself seemed to echo with it, each wall answering him in hollow resonance as if all the voices of the First Alphas had joined his cry. His body was rigid on the throne, his fingers clawing against the stone arms as though he might rip himself free of the heat searing into his flesh, but the throne did not release, it consumed, and every heartbeat was a hammer driving the truth deeper into him.Syra stood motionless, her torch flickering wildly, her expression a mixture of triumph and anguish. She whispered more to herself than to Fenric, though her words carried in the silence between his cries. “He takes what I could not, he bears what I was denied, and yet it will destroy him if he does not learn to bend before it bends him.”The Bonebinder’s chains clattered across the floor as it leaned closer, the hollow sockets of its fused mask catching the f

The forest did not welcome him. Every branch seemed heavier, every shadow thicker, every root reaching across his path as though the land itself recoiled from the crown pressed into his blood. Fenric walked with steady steps, but each movement carried the weight of a hundred eyes watching, though none dared reveal themselves. He felt no pursuit, no whisper of wolf or beast, only the hollow echo of his own breath, and it was in that hollow silence that his thoughts grew sharp and merciless.He could still feel the cold imprint of the throne’s stone upon his hands, the jagged grooves that had cut into his palms when he pulled free. He had expected pain, even death, but what lingered instead was something far more unbearable, the knowledge that he had survived, that the crown had not consumed him as it had so many before. That survival itself felt like betrayal.The voice of Kaela haunted him first, the memory of her certainty, her blade raised not against him but for him, the promise in

The howl of the Elders did not fade like ordinary sound. It clung to the night air and pressed against the skin, reverberating through bone as though the very marrow responded to its command. Fenric felt it burn in his chest, not as a call he wished to answer, but as a command his blood could not deny. He saw the same reaction in Kaela, in Sira, even in Raelin, who stiffened and bared her teeth yet turned her head toward the direction of the call as though compelled against her will.The forest trembled with silence once the howl ended, but it was not the silence of peace. Every creature knew what it meant when the Elders called in such a voice. It was not gathering, nor counsel, nor even preparation for war. It was judgment.Kaela’s hand was still clasped in Fenric’s, her grip tight enough to ground him, but her eyes were shadowed with fear and defiance. “They know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the crackle of the dying fire. “The throne, the fracture, everything. Th

The hollow emptied long before dawn, yet the echo of voices lingered in Fenric’s ears like a wound that would never heal. He stood outside the circle where his trial had ended, his body broken but not destroyed, his spirit frayed but not surrendered. The word still rang within him, exile, a sound heavier than chains, a decree colder than death. Wolves had died with honor on that soil, but he was not permitted such closure. He had lived, and in living, he was cast out.The Elders did not look at him as he was led from the hollow, as though the mere sight of him threatened their certainty. Kaela’s cry still echoed in his memory, cut short by the hands that restrained her. Sira’s silverlight had flared like a storm waiting to break, but even she had bowed her head as the decree was spoken, knowing that to resist then would only condemn them all. Raelin’s eyes had held him the longest, sharp, searching, unyielding, but even her blade had stayed sheathed. He bore their silence now like a