The ash hadn't even settled from the Iron Vale's collapse when the smoke turned red.
Not with fire.
With omens.
Across the eastern sky, black vultures circled in unnatural silence, their wings dusted in silver. They made no sound. No call. No descent.
They only watched.
Atop a jagged cliff near the ruins, Caelina, Elara, and Zela stood still, breathing hard. The mountain behind them moaned as its bones caved inward, swallowing history.
But it was not over.
Zela's hawk spun low. Dropped something at Caelina's feet.
A severed wolf mask. Melted. Marked with a glyph.
Caelina picked it up.
The silver glyph flickered — then spoke.
"Bride of the First Moon.
You thought fire would cleanse.
But some fires only summon greater storms.
Come home.
Come bow.
Or watch the sky eat the land."
Then it crumbled.
Elara stiffened. "She's alive."
Caelina whispered, "No... she's woken."
Hours later, in Eclipse Hollow, the stars refused to shine.
The moon bled orange.
And smoke rolled in from the east like a tidal wave of ash.
From the Watchtower came the cry:
"FIRE!
But not from here.
It's marching!"
By dawn, the scouts returned, eyes wild, mouths dry.
"Miren is raising old cities," one gasped.
"Ones thought buried. She's found the Deep Forges—weapon halls from the age before the split."
Another collapsed:
"They ride smoke-wolves. Wolves made from embers. They don't bleed. They just burn."
At Council Rock, a war circle formed.
Sea wolves. Moonborn. Broken packs. All staring at one figure.
Caelina.
Zela leaned in. "You're not just their alpha anymore. You're their only fuse."
Elara placed her blade before Caelina's feet.
"I serve the storm that walks. Even if it breaks me."
Caelina stepped into the ring. Her voice clear. Controlled.
"Miren doesn't want land.
She doesn't want to rule.
She wants to rewrite the story we come from.
She wants to make wolves forget fear.
So they worship only her flame."
She looked each warrior in the eye.
"But we do not bow to fire.
We answer it with fang. With truth. With legacy written in bone."
She reached into her pouch.
And pulled out the ashes of the Salt Cradle.
Poured them into the earth.
And whispered an old incantation only the sea and blood understood.
The wind howled.
The ground rippled.
And from the soil rose a blade.
Forged of coral and moonmetal. Carved with the names of every wolf who had died to keep the Hollow free.
She lifted it high.
"Tell the others," she said.
"We ride before the next moon.
Not to survive.
But to end the fire where it started."
Meanwhile, in the far east—
In the shattered ruins of the Obsidian Divide—
Miren stood upon a throne of smoldering wolves.
Her arms bared.
Her veins glowing.
Her eyes burning not silver… but white flame.
Behind her, legions moved:
War-beasts bound by molten chains.Children reared in darkness, chanting her name.Elders long thought dead, twisted by fire-magic and purpose.
She raised her hands.
And the sky cracked.
Lightning didn't flash.
It screamed.
"Bring me the moon-girl," she said.
"Alive.
Broken.
I want her to watch the world kneel."
Back in Eclipse Hollow, Caelina stepped onto the southern ridge.
Looked out.
Saw flames in the distance.
Felt the wind carry ashes that once were names.
And whispered to herself:
"She will burn what we built.
Unless I become what I fear."
She touched the blade again.
Then closed her eyes.
And began the ancient shift —
Not to wolf.
Not to sea.
But to something in-between.
Something born in the cradle of salt and smoke.