The scent hit me before the word fully registered.
Blood.
Sharp. Metallic. Wrong.
I tore the covers off and sprinted from the chamber, my bare feet slapping against the ancient stone floor of the sanctuary. The runes that lined the walls glowed dimly, flickering as if confused, disturbed.
Down the corridor, shadows gathered.
I pushed past the crowd of whispering wolves and gasped.
Kira — the she-wolf who had trained me, who had taught me to feel the fire and not fear it — lay sprawled across the stone, her throat slashed clean through.
Her amber eyes still wide.
Still glowing.
Dead.
The pool of blood beneath her shimmered with magic. It clung to the runes in the floor, staining their glow with crimson.
Rhydan stood beside her, fists clenched, jaw locked.
"She's gone," he said without looking at me.
"No," I whispered. "This doesn't make sense. Who would—"
"We don't know," said one of the elders coldly. "But her blood sings. And it points to the girl."
All eyes turned to me.
To my hands.
Which glowed.
No. No. No…
"I didn't do this!" I cried, backing up. "I would never hurt Kira!"
"She trained you. She trusted you," another elder snapped. "You were the last person she met with before nightfall."
"That's true," I said, "but she was fine—"
Rhydan stepped between me and the growing ring of wolves. "She didn't do it. I was with her."
"You were both missing from patrol," one of the guards hissed. "You expect us to believe it's a coincidence?"
"She's the Flame reborn," someone muttered behind me. "She doesn't need claws. She kills with thought."
The circle was closing.
"I said back off!" Rhydan snarled.
Magic burst from him — not flame, but force. A shockwave of energy sent the others stumbling. I staggered, but he caught me.
"This is wrong," I whispered. "Someone's setting us up."
He nodded, voice tight. "Then we find out who."
"But the elders—"
"Let them accuse. I'll protect you."
"But if it was magic," I said shakily, "then I should've sensed it. I should've…"
"Unless someone cloaked it."
That thought froze me.
Who could cloak death magic? Only someone ancient.
Or someone I trusted.
That evening, I stood with Rhydan before the Council of the Forgotten Fangs — a half-circle of stone thrones wrapped in vines and moonlight. The forest outside the sanctuary stood unnaturally still, as though holding its breath.
"She's a threat," one wolf spat.
"She's a child," Rhydan growled back.
"She's more than that," my mother said, stepping from the shadows. "She's the heir of the Flame. And that kind of power always comes with enemies."
"Or guilt," one of the elders said. "Your own daughter can't control her gifts. What if she killed Kira without knowing?"
"I'd feel it," I said, stepping forward. "The fire inside me reacts when I use it. Even when I don't mean to. I'd know if I did this."
"You expect us to take your word for it?" he sneered.
"No," I said. "I expect you to give me one day to prove the truth."
The room went still.
Rhydan's eyes met mine.
"Aeryn—"
"One day," I repeated. "Let me find who did this. Then decide my fate."
My mother's voice cut through the silence. "I support her claim."
That surprised everyone.
Even me.
"She's my daughter," she said. "Let her show you what she's truly made of."
The next twenty-four hours felt like a ticking death sentence.
We returned to Kira's chamber — what was left of it.
Blood had soaked into the floor. Her books had been scorched, not by fire but by magic. That detail chilled me.
"This wasn't rage," I murmured. "It was surgical. Whoever did this knew exactly where to strike."
Rhydan nodded. "And how to hide it."
He knelt and touched the floor. "This isn't just blood. There's spell residue."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning this wasn't a fight. It was a ritual."
As the sun dipped below the cliffs, we followed the residue — traces of ancient spellwork — through the hidden corridors beneath the sanctuary. The path led deep, far below the sacred pools and meditation caves.
And then we found it.
A hidden chamber.
Walls carved with forbidden runes — ones even I couldn't read.
But Rhydan could.
His face paled.
"This is witchcraft," he said. "Dark kind. Not the kind your ancestor practiced. This is blood summoning."
"What were they trying to summon?"
"Not what," he said grimly. "Who."
He pointed to the center symbol — a wolf with no face, surrounded by flame and chains.
"The Hollow Howler," he said. "A demon spirit from before the packs even formed. Banished by the Flame herself centuries ago."
My heart thudded. "They're trying to resurrect it?"
"To bind it," he said. "And use its power to control you."
I shook. "But who—?"
Then something clicked.
A flicker of memory.
The guards who'd cornered us that day.
The one with the scar down his cheek.
The scent of bitter herbs.
He smelled like this chamber.
"Davin," I said.
Rhydan's eyes darkened. "He's always resented the old ways."
"And he was always quiet around Kira," I added. "But he never liked me."
Rhydan's jaw tightened. "Because he knew what you could become."
We ran.
We found Davin by the cliffside, preparing to leave under the cover of night. A sack of vials and scrolls lay at his feet. He didn't even flinch when we approached.
"You figured it out, didn't you?" he said calmly.
"You killed her," I hissed.
"She was weak," he replied. "She wanted to train you. Serve you."
"And you wanted to control me."
He shrugged. "The Flame should serve the packs, not rule them. The Hollow Howler would've seen to that."
Rhydan lunged — but I stopped him.
"No," I said. "This is mine."
I stepped forward.
Davin grinned. "You won't kill me. You're still soft. Still human where it counts."
I closed my eyes.
And for the first time… I welcomed the fire.
It didn't roar.
It sang.
Golden flames curled around my hands like silk, wrapping my arms, dancing across my skin.
Davin's smile faltered.
"You want power?" I whispered. "Here's a taste."
I lifted my palm.
The flames shot forward, not burning — revealing. His face twisted as the magic peeled away the cloaking spell he'd used to hide his ritual.
The elders arrived just in time to see his skin shimmer with cursed sigils.
The proof.
He was taken. Imprisoned.
But it didn't feel like victory.
It felt like the beginning of something worse.
Because the symbols he left behind in that cave…
They were incomplete.
Someone else had helped him.
And they were still free.
Watching.
Waiting.
That night, Rhydan sat beside me as the stars blinked overhead.
"You should sleep," he murmured.
"I'm afraid to close my eyes."
He reached out and laced his fingers through mine.
"You don't have to be," he said. "I'll watch for both of us."
And somehow… I believed him.
But in the forest beyond the cliffs…
A second sigil pulsed in the ground.
The Hollow Howler wasn't gone.
It was just waking up.