The path of the Vow
They traveled until the sun rode high and the shadows beneath the trees grew sharp and lean. Birds called above, and somewhere in the distance a stream babbled, clear and pure. The wolf led them along hidden trails no human could ever have found alone—through thickets that parted like veils at its approach, over narrow ridges, beneath arches of ancient boughs where moss glowed faintly with bioluminescent green.
Auriel spoke little. She kept her gaze forward, her mind still humming from the vision the wolf had granted her earlier. Cities, rivers, mountains—the balance. Something vast was unraveling, and they were now threads sewn into the mending of it.
Serene, more attuned to the present, finally broke the silence. "We should name her."
The wolf glanced at her, a flick of an ear as though acknowledging the thought.
Auriel tilted her head. "You think she doesn't already have one?"
Serene shrugged. "Maybe. But if we are bound to her, she's bound to us too. She should have a name in our tongue, one she can hear when we call."
The wolf slowed, then sat beside a fallen cedar. Her eyes—those brilliant, piercing eyes—met theirs. Slowly, as if answering a question unspoken, she lowered her head and pressed her snout to the earth.
In the soil, where her breath touched, frost formed—quick and sudden—shaping into delicate patterns. Runes. Auriel crouched and brushed the ice with her fingers.
"She's giving it to us," Serene whispered.
Auriel nodded. "Her name in the Old Tongue." She traced the first rune with her finger. "Vaelora."
The wolf blinked slowly, affirming.
"Vaelora," Serene repeated, the name rolling like snow-melt in her mouth. "White Flame. That's what it means."
Vaelora rose again, powerful and graceful. The sisters knew then—they were no longer simply human. Not entirely. The bond had changed them.
Their eyes had begun to mirror the wolf's light.
By twilight, they reached the edges of an ancient ruin, overgrown and half-swallowed by ivy and moss. Cracked stone columns jutted from the ground like bones of some long-dead beast. Vines clung to the carvings—glyphs of wolves, moons, and stars. A circle of stones in the center bore claw marks and handprints carved deep, layered over countless generations.
"This was a place of vow-making," Auriel said, approaching reverently. "The first Wolfguard once knelt here."
"Then we must kneel too," Serene answered.
They stepped into the circle together, and Vaelora followed. A low wind stirred. As they knelt, a sudden pressure filled the air. The light dimmed, though no cloud passed the sun. Instead, the ruin seemed to descend into silence beyond silence.
From the shadows, six silver flames ignited atop six ancient stones. Figures emerged—ghostly forms dressed in white and gray, each crowned with a mark of the wolf: some bore spears, others scrolls, one a crescent moon etched into her palm.
"The Council of Past Bonds," Vaelora said—not in words, but through the minds of the sisters, her voice like snowfall on frozen lakes. "The echoes of those who walked before you."
Auriel felt her breath leave her. "Why are they here?"
"To test your vow. And if your hearts are true… to grant you the Sight."
The spirits spoke not with lips, but with intent. One stepped forward—the woman with the crescent moon.
"Daughters of wind and white fire," the spirit said, "you have been chosen. But choice alone does not complete the bond. Sacrifice must seal it."
Serene straightened. "What must we give?"
Another stepped forward, a man with his face half-covered by a silver mask. His eyes burned with starlight. "Your old lives. You cannot return to your village, to your names, to the safety of forgetting."
"You must become guardians of memory and mystery," said another, "and wear the wolf's silence and fury like your own skin."
Auriel turned to Serene, and Serene met her gaze. They both nodded.
"We accept."
Then came a pain—not physical, but something deeper. Like pages being torn from the book of who they were. Visions burst within their minds: their father's last laugh, their mother braiding their hair, the warmth of fire in winter—drifting into fog. Not erased, but sealed away.
They cried silently as it passed.
The spirits did not smile, nor pity. But they bowed. All six of them bowed. And then the light exploded.
When it faded, the sisters stood again.
Their gowns shimmered now—not simply white, but threaded with the glint of starlight and shadow. Around their wrists, wolf-shaped bracers of pale silver had formed. On their foreheads, symbols pulsed faintly: Serene bore the moon, Auriel the flame.
Vaelora rose and circled them.
"You are now Alari," she whispered through their minds. "Eyes of the wild, flames against corruption."
Auriel turned in wonder. "I see it," she breathed.
And she did.
She saw the world not as it was, but as it truly was. Threads of energy linked all living things—webs that pulsed with life and intent. She saw poison rising from distant factories, black knots strangling the rivers. She saw wounded lands crying beneath roads and cities. And she saw other guardians, far away—watching, waiting, holding their own posts.
Serene gasped. "A child is crying... beyond the pines. Her soul is marked."
They turned.
Vaelora didn't speak. She ran.
The sisters followed.
Beyond the pine ridge lay a burnt grove. The trees here were blackened, and the soil cracked. In the center of the ruin sat a girl—no more than seven—rocking back and forth. Her eyes were wide with terror, her dress singed and torn.
Around her, shadows coiled—not just ordinary ones, but sentient, thick with malevolence. They hissed and shifted like smoke, trying to find a way inside her.
Auriel shouted. "Don't let them feed!"
Serene moved instantly, dropping to one knee beside the girl. She reached out, letting her Sight guide her. The shadows hissed louder and struck—
But Vaelora stood in their path.
With a furious howl, the great wolf launched into them, her body blazing with light. The shadows recoiled, screeching. Auriel stepped forward and raised both hands, channeling her fire into the ground. A ring of burning glyphs sprang up, encircling them.
"Name yourself!" she commanded the largest shadow.
It twisted and snarled. "I am N'hural, hunger of fallen roots. The child is mine."
"She is not yours," Serene said, her voice like moonlight slicing cloud. "She is under the Wolfguard's protection."
N'hural lunged.
The wolf struck.
Auriel and Serene channeled all their strength. Moonlight from Serene's palm, flame from Auriel's heart. Together they pierced the shadow, cleaving its form until the mist scattered to ash.
The child fainted, but unharmed.
Vaelora stood panting, blood—a shimmer of starlight—on her flank. The sisters hurried to her side.
"I'm alright," she whispered.
They carried the child to a sacred spring that flowed near the edge of the grove. As the cool water touched her skin, the girl stirred. Her eyes opened—and they too glowed faintly, just like the sisters' had begun to. Not full, not yet, but she was Touched.
Serene smiled gently. "You've seen the truth."
The girl nodded.
"What's your name?" Auriel asked.
"Lira," she said. "My village… it burned. They sent me into the woods. Said the wolf would come."
Vaelora lowered her great head beside the girl, who buried her fingers into the thick fur and wept.
That night, under a full silver moon, the sisters stood atop a ridge. Below, the valley shimmered. Fires had gone out. The forest had quieted. Somewhere far off, another guardian's beacon lit the sky—green and sharp like a spear.
"We are not alone," Auriel whispered.
"No," Serene agreed. "We never were."
Vaelora lifted her head, and from her throat came a long, echoing howl—one that stirred mountains and reached the edge of the world.
The sisters joined hands.
The wind carried their names into legend.
And the wolf watched, forever.