The underground path twisted like a serpent's spine.
Narrow corridors branched into hollows. Broken murals stretched across every wall, filled with half-faded symbols, wolves standing beside crowned men, and moons split in two. The deeper Jonas and Elena walked, the more the silence pressed inward—as though the air itself was holding its breath.
Jonas's steps were slower now, not from exhaustion, but from reverence. Something about the way the stone glowed beneath his boots made him feel like every footfall was being recorded in history.
He could still hear the echo of Fen'kaar's roar behind his thoughts.
And that single sentence the Shadowborn had spoken haunted him more than any blade:
> "I smell the blood of Fen'kaar."
What did it mean to carry the blood of a godwolf?
What did it mean that Malik's army feared him before he even knew who he was?
"Where are we?" Jonas asked, breaking the long silence.
Elena didn't answer at first. She studied the walls, her hand grazing over glyphs embedded in the stone.
"This is the Hollow Spine," she finally said. "An old escape route carved during the Siege of the First Court. Few even remember it exists."
"And where does it lead?"
"Back to the old riverbanks. But more than that…" Her eyes flicked to a hidden passage behind a collapsed archway. "It leads to the Forge."
Jonas frowned. "Forge?"
"The place where the Fangmarked were born."
They arrived at a massive doorway framed by statues of twin wolves. The entrance was sealed by stone marked with old blood sigils.
Elena sliced a line across her palm and pressed her hand to the center. The sigils flared, then receded.
Jonas stepped forward.
"Wait," she warned. "Only blood of the line can enter the inner chamber."
"I am the blood," Jonas said without hesitation.
The doors groaned and creaked open.
Inside was a cavern unlike any he had seen—wide as a mountain's ribcage, lit by a sky of artificial stars embedded in the ceiling. In the center stood a giant anvil forged from black moonstone, cracked but still glowing.
Weapons lined the walls. Armor that shimmered between shadow and light. Wolf helms shaped with fangs carved from silver.
Jonas approached slowly.
He felt pulled to the center like gravity had found a soul.
"This is where they made you," Elena said softly.
"Me?"
"Not you, Jonas. But you're kind. The first Fangmarked. This forge was their cradle. It's said the moon herself split a piece of her heart to power it."
Jonas reached toward the anvil and paused.
A soft hum filled the air.
Not a sound. A resonance.
Like the forge was remembering him too.
Above ground, in the council chambers of Kaladorn, Prince Malik stood before a projection of the kingdom—illuminated by crystals pulsing with arcane fire. He traced a finger down its spine, stopping at the Moonwell, then moving to the base of the cliffs.
"They've entered the Spine," he muttered.
A hooded advisor bowed behind him. "Shall I dispatch the Boneguard?"
"No. Not yet."
"Then what, my prince?"
Malik stared into the flickering map as if waiting for it to bleed.
"I want the Gate reawakened."
The advisor stiffened. "That… breaks the oldest pact."
"Then let it break."
"But it will summon the Hollow beneath the Hollow."
Malik's gaze darkened. "Exactly."
Back at the forge, Jonas stood before the anvil, sweat prickling his skin.
He wasn't sure why his heart beat faster, why the room felt warmer, or why the air smelled of silver ash.
Then he heard it again.
A voice.
But not a memory this time.
A whisper from something alive.
> "Your blood remembers what your mind forgets."
Elena turned sharply. "Did you hear that?"
Jonas nodded.
"It's the forge," she said. "It's calling you."
He stepped closer.
And the moment his palm touched the anvil—
The entire chamber burst with light.
Visions hit him again—but clearer, more precise.
He saw a wolf-shaped crown forged in fire.
He saw a battle not yet fought.
He saw himself standing before Malik, no longer unsure, no longer human.
And then… he saw something buried beneath the city, chained in darkness, breathing.
He pulled back, heart pounding.
"What was that?" he asked Elena.
She looked pale.
"You saw the Gate."
"The Gate?"
"The seal between this world and what lies underneath. The Hollow King. The First Betrayer."
Jonas's mouth went dry. "I thought that was a myth."
"No," she said. "The myth is that it was sealed forever."
Before he could ask more, a rumble passed beneath their feet.
Elena looked up sharply.
"Too soon," she whispered. "He opened the Gate."
"Who?"
"Elena!" a voice called from the shadows.
They turned.
A tall figure with bronze skin and crescent tattoos across his arms stepped from behind a ruined statue.
He wore light leather armor, a curved scythe on his back, and eyes that glowed like embers.
"Elric," Elena said, shocked. "You survived?"
"Barely. Malik's forces are moving through the eastern tunnels. They're faster than expected."
He looked at Jonas, eyes narrowing.
"So… this is the boy?"
"I'm standing right here," Jonas said dryly.
Elric smirked. "Let's hope you're more than just a prophecy in boots."
"I've survived a statue god, a Shadowborn, and three assassins. So yeah. I'm not just a story."
Elric grinned. "Good. Because the Hollow are coming."
They moved quickly now—the path rising upward, bending toward moonlight.
The air grew colder. Less sacred. More hunted.
Elena walked ahead, blade drawn. Elric flanked the rear. Jonas walked between them, hands clenched, Whisperfang strapped to his back and pulsing like a heartbeat.
They passed through an arch where wolves had once stood guard.
Now the statues were crumbling.
A bad sign.
Elric cursed under his breath. "The Hollow already passed through."
Jonas frowned. "What do they want with me?"
Elena didn't speak.
So Elric did.
"They don't want you dead. They want you unmade. If you survive long enough to bond with the Fang Crown, you'll be able to call the Wild Court."
"The what?"
"You'll see," Elric said. "If you live."
They reached the exit just as the first stars bled through the sky above.
Kaladorn stretched out beneath them—a ghost of towers and torches, unaware of the storm brewing below.
And from deep beneath the cliffs behind them, a howl rose.
But it wasn't a wolf's howl.
It was deeper.
Older.
Jonas felt it in his chest.
In his teeth.
Something below had broken free.
The air twisted.
A second howl answered it—not below, but nearby.
And from the shadows of the cliffside trees—
A dozen figures stepped forward.
Eyes glowing gold.
Fangs bared.
Wolves.
But not just any wolves.
These ones walked like men.
And they were bowing.
To him.