The Wolf Who Chose Me
They weren’t hunting.
They were recovering lost ground.
“They’re coming for you,” Kael said, knives drawn, voice steady.
Azriel rose from the throne. His mark didn’t just glow—it blazed. Not with one flame. Not four.
All of them.
A sixth flame stirred in his chest.
He looked at the throne. Then at Kael. Then at the sky full of remembering stars.
And he smiled—faint, exhausted, but fierce.
“Now,” Azriel said, “we remember louder than they can silence.”