The Price Of Fate のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 311 - チャプター 320

Ronan’s POVNyra’s hand tightened around mine. The ash ahead shifted. Not much. Barely enough to notice. My wolf caught it first. I turned before thought completed. The ground to our right split open. Something came out of it. Not rose. Came out. A long, pale arm punched through ash and cracked stone, fingers too thin, joints bending wrong, nails black and curved like old burnt hooks. Then a head followed, hair hanging in strings over a face that looked almost human until it opened its mouth too wide and showed teeth arranged in too many uneven rows. Its eyes were not red. Not black. They glowed a sickly grey-white, like dead moonlight trapped behind film.Another tore itself from the ground behind it. Then another. Then the slope ahead moved, and I realised they had not been buried. They had been waiting. “Wraith-touched,” Spiro warned sharply. That word landed like a blade thrown into all of us. The creatures moved at once. They did not run like wolves. Did not charge like Aetherfan

Ronan’s POVA creature slammed into my back. I hit the ground hard. Ash filled my mouth. The thing landed on me, claws digging into my shoulders. I drove my elbow back, but it had already wrapped around me like a spider. Its mouth opened near my ear. A sound came out. Not a scream. A whisper. My mother’s voice. Ronan. I froze for half a second. That was enough. Its claws sank deeper. Pain tore down my back. Then gold flared through the bond like Nyra had shoved a flame into my spine.‘Not her!’ Seraphina roared inside me. The false voice shattered. I snarled and threw the creature off with strength that felt half-wolf, half-something brighter. Gold shimmered over my shoulders as the wounds smoked. I spun, caught it by the head, and dragged it toward Nyra. Nyra understood instantly. Seraphina burned it. My chest heaved. The creature had used my mother’s voice. My mother. Rage almost blinded me. Nyra grabbed my face. “Ronan,” Nyra said. I looked at her. “That is what they do,” Nyra warn

Ronan’s POV“Dad?” I breathed. The word left my mouth and broke something inside the hollow. For a moment, nothing moved. Not him. Not me. Not Nyra beside me. Not Keiran. Not Astrid. Not even Spiro, who always looked like stillness was something he had invented and allowed the rest of us to borrow badly.The man stared at me. No. My father stared at me. Victor Whitewolf stood several paces away in rags, with a wraith bell hanging low in one hand and the other hand half lifted like he had forgotten what he meant to do with it. His hood had slipped back fully now, leaving his face bare under the ugly light of the Outlands. I could see every cruel year on him. Every line. Every scar. Every place where heat had burnt colour into his skin and hunger had stolen from his body. His beard was thick and tangled. His hair looked like it had been hacked shorter in some places and left wild in others. His cheekbones were too sharp. His wrists were too thin. There were old marks along his throat an

Ronan’s POVVictor closed his eyes. His face folded around relief so deep it looked painful. “Alive,” he repeated, like the word was food. “She is alive,” I confirmed. “She has missed you every day.” Victor opened his eyes again, and tears slid through the dirt on his face. “You?” he asked. My throat tightened again. “I am fine,” I answered. “I have grown. Things have changed. But we are alive.”He turned slightly, eyes moving over the others with frantic recognition trying to form and failing because years had changed all of us. “How is everyone?” Victor asked. “Ethan? Ingrid? The pack? Your mother’s people? What happened after I fell? Is Elaine...”At Elaine’s name, the air changed. Nyra went still beside me. Keiran’s expression tightened. Spiro watched silently, suddenly too attentive. Victor noticed. Of course he did. He had lived too long in danger not to feel silence change shape.His eyes moved between us. “Is Elaine fine?” Victor asked carefully. I took a deep breath. Elaine. T

Ronan’s POVFor a few seconds, no one spoke. The shelter seemed too small for the truth. My father looked at Nyra again. This time, he looked differently. Not with fear of her, but fear for what the truth made her. Elaine’s daughter. Tobias Viremont’s daughter. A royal bloodline standing in a ragged shelter outside wraith land while the werewolf side bled behind us.“Elaine,” my father breathed. It was not a question. It was almost a prayer. Nyra said nothing. I did not either. My father rubbed a hand over his mouth, fingers disappearing into his beard. His hand shook once before he lowered it. “You came to find him,” my father said. “We came to find Elaine first,” I corrected. “And to reach Tobias because he may be the only one strong enough to help secure the werewolf side.” My father let out a harsh, humourless breath. “May be,” my father repeated.“I know it is not certain,” I said. “No,” my father replied, looking at me with eyes that had seen too much to accept soft hope. “It is