Elowen's POV
I hated it.
The silence that lingered after the fire. The crater in the earth where Kael had stood, swallowed by fog and flame. The weight in my chest that wouldn't loosen, as though something vital had been torn from me.
I hated that I cared.
But more than anything, I hated the way my body no longer felt like my own.
Something inside me had awakened—no, bloomed. My skin buzzed. My veins pulsed with an energy I didn't recognize. Every step I took echoed louder, every breath burned colder. The world around me was sharper, clearer, more alive… and so was I.
The fog had thinned, but the night was far from safe. I wandered aimlessly through the trees, trying to calm the storm under my skin. The sigil on my shoulder still glowed faintly, its warmth lingering like an ember beneath the flesh.
And then I felt it.
A pull. A whisper that wasn't sound but sensation. Deep and ancient, like a memory buried in the marrow.
I turned toward it.
The earth beneath my feet trembled—barely, but enough that I paused. Something was calling me. Not with words. With instinct. With blood.
The trees parted on their own, revealing a narrow slope, tangled with roots and moss. At the base was a break in the earth, a crack in the forest floor. From inside it came a pale red glow.
I crouched, my breath trembling. Nestled among the rocks and moss was a fragment of bone. Old. Yellowed. But still humming with something unholy.
My hand moved toward it.
The moment my fingers grazed the surface—
Flame.
White fire laced with crimson erupted from the bone, coiling around my hand like a serpent. It didn't burn. It filled me—slithered into my skin, my blood, my lungs. I cried out, falling to my knees as the fire raced through me, lighting up veins I hadn't known existed.
And then—
My mouth opened.
Words spilled out. Ancient, foreign, but somehow familiar.
> "Atrakar ve'na dol... fi'rha mael'dahr."
The flames burst upward, forming the shape of a howling wolf in the air—then shattered into a hundred sparks and vanished.
I gasped, hands shaking.
And then—
A voice. Sharp. Furious.
"Never speak that spell again."
I turned.
Kael stood at the edge of the clearing, eyes wide, chest heaving, his coat torn and stained with soot and blood. His golden eyes didn't shine with anger.
They burned with fear.
"How did you find me?" I whispered.
"I wasn't looking for you," he said flatly. "I was looking for the flame. And you…"
He looked at the fractured bone in my hand. "You just woke something that should've stayed buried."
"I didn't know. I just—"
But that was a lie.
I did know. Or part of me did.
I had wanted the fire.
Kael strode toward me. "Elowen, listen carefully. What you summoned wasn't ordinary fire. It's not elemental. It's not Alpha-born. That's blood magic."
I blinked. "Blood…?"
"Old blood. Cursed blood. The flame you summoned comes from a line of royals who were exiled and damned. They carved magic into their bones and chained spirits into their bloodlines. That fire only answers to one kind of descendant."
His voice grew quieter. "The cursed ones."
I looked down at my hand. The bone was cracked, crumbling. But its essence still throbbed inside me.
"That can't be," I said. "I'm not from any royal line. I'm no one. I was raised in the forest. I never even knew my mother's name."
Kael knelt before me, gripping my shoulders. "Your body doesn't lie. The forest obeyed you. The flame recognized you. And I've seen this magic before—once."
I searched his face. "Where?"
"In the old chronicles. In the War of Ash and Blood. There was one woman who called fire from bone. She burned a legion of enemies with nothing but a single name."
"What name?" I asked, afraid of the answer.
"Veyra," he said. "Princess of the Blood Throne. She raised her mother's bones and turned them into weapons. The Council of Wolves cursed her name and erased her from history. But there's a prophecy…"
My voice dropped. "What prophecy?"
"That she would return. Reborn. With eyes of fire and a sigil that burns like ash."
I staggered backward, shaking my head. "I'm not her."
"I want to believe that," he whispered.
"But you don't," I said bitterly.
Kael looked away.
And I knew.
---
We made camp near the old hollow. Kael built a fire—mundane, orange, normal. It flickered gently between us, the only thing separating the silence.
He didn't try to come closer. He didn't touch me. His eyes, though, never strayed far from mine. And in their depths, I saw wariness. And guilt.
"I don't know what I am," I said quietly.
Kael stirred. "You're not a monster."
"But you think I'm dangerous."
He exhaled, slow. "You're changing. That's not your fault. But you can't pretend it's not happening."
I wrapped my arms around my knees, staring into the flames. "What if I want it to happen?"
He didn't answer.
Because we both knew the truth—I did. Some part of me had always known I was meant for more than hiding in caves and stealing scraps from the market. I wasn't made to vanish.
I was made to burn.
---
That night, sleep didn't come easily. Kael rested with his back to the fire, facing the woods, ever alert. I watched him from across the glow, his face half in shadow.
There was something tragic about him. Not just the scars or the battle fatigue—but the way he carried the weight of history in his silence. Like he had lived too long with too many regrets.
I wanted to ask him who he had lost.
But I didn't.
Instead, I slipped away.
Beyond the camp, a narrow stream glimmered in the moonlight. I knelt beside it, cupping water in my hands. The cold soothed the heat in my palms, but my reflection…
My breath caught.
It was me. The shape of my jaw, the line of my brow. But the eyes staring back from the water—
They weren't mine.
Glowing red. Luminous. Wild. Wolf's eyes.
And they looked back at me like they knew something I didn't.
Like they were waiting.