It started as a whisper low, almost imperceptible, carried on the breeze like a shiver from the earth itself. Ember stood at the edge of the Hollow's watchtower, her palms resting on the cold stone, eyes narrowed toward the horizon where shadows danced between trees.
Then the whisper grew teeth.
A howl pierced the midnight silence.
It wasn't just loud, it was primal, ancient, soaked in agony and rage. It rolled through the trees like thunder, shaking the leaves from their branches, and stirred something deep within Ember's bones. The flames under her skin trembled in response, not from fear but recognition.
"That's no ordinary wolf," she whispered.
Ronan was already at her side, his jaw tight. "It's a war cry."
More howls answered. Dozens. Then silence.
The forest held its breath.
Below, the Hollow guards scrambled, torches blazing as scouts were dispatched to every edge of the border. The protective wards carved in ancient runes flared blue, signaling the approach of someone powerful.
Maerin emerged from the temple, staff in hand, her expression stony.
"They're testing the perimeter," she said. "Probing our defenses. That howl… it came from the Hollow King."
"The what?" Ember turned to her sharply.
"The Hollow King is the Council's first corrupted Alpha," Maerin said. "Born from a broken bond, made to serve through pain. They laced him with cursed moonstone and fed him the blood of a thousand wolves. His howl can command packs to turn on each other."
Ember swallowed. "He's real?"
"Real and coming."
Ronan moved protectively closer to Ember. "Then we need to move. Now."
But Ember didn't move. The fire inside her was shifting, becoming something fierce and cold.
"No," she said. "We need to make them fear what answers back."
Hours later, Ember stood in the heart of the Hollow's ritual grounds. The air buzzed with tension, and torches circled the space like glowing sentries. A ceremonial dagger rested in Maerin's hands.
"To awaken your blood," Maerin said, "you must summon the howl that sleeps inside you. Not a scream. Not a battle cry. A calling."
Ember stepped into the center of the ring. Her heart thundered, her breath heavy. She could feel her fire humming under her skin, but this was different. Maerin had warned her: to summon her true voice, she had to tap into the part of her that belonged to both Kael and Aria, the Alpha fire and the Moon's mark.
She closed her eyes.
She thought of her father's eyes, steel and shadow. Her mother's roar was unbreakable, wild.
She thought of every moment she had felt like a stranger in her own skin. Of loneliness. The anger. The rejection.
She opened her mouth
And let it all go.
The howl that tore from her throat was not human, not even wolf. It was something older than names, laced with wildfire and moonlight. It rose like a tidal wave, cracked the stone beneath her feet, and sent every torch in the circle into a frenzy of flame.
Far across the valley, wolves froze in their tracks.
The Hollow King paused mid-stride, his black eyes narrowing.
From deep within the corrupted forests, something ancient stirred and whimpered.
When Ember's voice faded, the world felt different. Quieter. Afraid.
Maerin looked at her with something approaching awe. "That was no mere howl. That was a declaration."
Ember wiped blood from her lip, her body shaking but her stance unyielding.
"I want them to know I'm not hiding anymore," she said. "I want them to know this Moonborn bites back."
By morning, the scouts returned with news: the enemy had retreated for now, but the Hollow King's forces were circling. They were not retreating, they were gathering. Ember's howl had shaken them, but it had also provoked them.
In the strategy room, Ember, Ronan, Maerin, and Callen pored over maps. The council's battalions were organizing from the eastern ridge. Smaller bands had been sighted near the Silver Ravine. They were closing in, trying to box them in like prey.
"We need allies," Callen said. "We can't defend the Hollow alone."
"The Highland Packs owe my mother a favor," Ember suggested. "She saved their Alpha's life during the Eastern Uprising."
Ronan nodded. "I'll ride for them at first light. But it won't be enough. We need more than warriors. We need fear on our side."
Ember's eyes lit up. "Then I'll give them something to fear."
That night, she returned to the ritual grounds alone. The Hollow villagers had already begun whispering about her howl. They called her "Flame Voice," a name rooted in both reverence and dread.
But Ember wasn't finished yet.
She knelt, placing her hands on the runes etched in the stone. Fire flickered along her fingers, but she didn't unleash it. She asked me to listen.
To feel.
The ground pulsed back.
The Moon above shimmered unnaturally, tinged with crimson at its edge.
Ember's voice, quiet this time, echoed in the empty space:
"You tried to make me a weapon. Now you'll face the warrior."
A second howl rose from her lips not one of rage, but of promise.
Somewhere beyond the forest, the Hollow King looked up at the sky, lips curling into a snarl.
"She's awake," he rasped. "And now… she's mine."
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With her voice awakened and the Hollow King closing in, can Ember gather allies in time or will her power mark her as a threat to be destroyed by both sides?