AYLA – POV
The Grove was quiet but not empty. It was listening.
The ash tree's roots curled deeper. The wind tasted of old names. The fifth thread shimmered in the distance, now coiled gently around a girl with no crest—yet held every thread in her eyes.
Kael stood beside me. Silent. Grounded.
Rylan paced the edge of the altar, muttering calculations no magic could solve.
Daya cleaned her blade.
But me?
I watched the girl.
Because she was already more than I'd ever been.
The wolves didn't know what to do with her.
They bowed without understanding. Feared her without reason. Respected her without a title.
The girl said nothing.
She simply sat beneath the tree, thread coiled around her wrist like silk waiting for a name. And that's what scared them most.
Not what she was but what she might become.
Rylan approached me first.
"This changes everything."
"Or nothing," I replied.
He frowned.
"She's a living thread."
"And so was I, once."
He looked away.
"She's not you."
