The dim oil lamp flickered against the stone walls of the hidden refuge. Bryden had chosen this place carefully—a hollowed-out cavern beneath the old woods where no soldier of Zain would dare search. It was damp, it smelled of earth and roots, but it was safe.Silvana sat on the low bedding of woven reeds, her son nestled against her chest. He was barely weeks old, his tiny breaths soft, almost fragile, but every inhale and exhale felt like thunder to her heart. He was the anchor that tethered her to life when despair whispered that Aiden might never return.Zia, curled up beside her mother, watched with wide eyes. She had grown quieter in hiding, her once-playful nature tempered by shadows of fear she didn’t fully understand. But still, every now and then, she asked the question that stabbed Silvana’s soul.“Mommy… when will Papa come back?”Silvana’s throat tightened. She always gave the same answer, the same half-truth, because her daughter’s innocence didn’t deserve the weight of

The night after the shadow spoke to her, Silvana woke with a new kind of fire burning in her veins. The child’s soft cries roused her, and as she nursed him, she could not shake the memory of that voice.“You will rise.”It wasn’t just hope—it was a command.Bryden noticed the change in her almost immediately. Where she had once moved with weary resignation, her eyes now carried steel. He watched silently as she bathed the newborn with water warmed over embers, her hands steady, her posture firm.“You seem… different,” he finally said, his voice low so as not to wake Zia.Silvana glanced at him, her lips curving in the faintest of smiles. “Last night, I was reminded that despair is a luxury I can no longer afford. My children deserve more than survival.”Bryden studied her, brow furrowed. “What did you see?”She hesitated. How could she explain the shadow without sounding mad? Yet something told her Bryden, of all people, would understand.“I heard a voice,” she whispered. “It spoke o

Jonas had always been a man of shifting skins, but in the hunters’ village, he wore a mask of patience. The huts here were built with earth and timber, humble in design but strong, resilient like the people themselves. He moved among them quietly, offering his hands to carry firewood, his voice to trade stories, his eyes lowered when tradition demanded.He was not a hunter, not by birth nor by training, but he learned quickly—how to set snares, how to gut fish, how to sit by the fire without speaking unless spoken to. The heir’s absence remained a puzzle gnawing at his mind, yet he never pushed. He knew the unspoken law: the hunters revealed themselves on their own terms, not under the pressure of an outsider.It was in the stillness of evening when Jonas was summoned by the elder who had first approached Bryden with the seal alliance. The man’s eyes were sharp, measuring Jonas not by his words but by his silence.“You move like one who wishes to belong,” the elder said, his voice ro

The night stretched long and heavy inside the safehouse. The fire had died down to glowing embers, painting the room in hues of red and shadow. Bryden sat stiff in his chair, staring into the flames, but his mind was far away — trapped between truth and silence.Silvana stirred, still awake though her newborn slept soundly against her breast. Her eyes had followed Bryden since his return. She had seen the twitch in his jaw, the hesitation in his words, the heaviness in his steps. He wasn’t simply tired from the journey. Something had shaken him, something far more dangerous than politics.“You’re hiding something,” she said finally, her voice low but sharp.Bryden flinched. He turned to her, his face a mask of composure, but the firelight betrayed the flicker in his eyes. “I told you everything that matters. The heir accepted the alliance, though reluctantly. That’s all.”Silvana arched a brow, tightening her hold on the child. “That’s not all. I know you well enough, Bryden. You don’

The morning sun rose golden over the hunters’ village, casting long shadows across the training grounds. Jonas sat at the edge of the communal fire pit, his hands clasped tight as though they were holding back something ready to burst. His body was still, but inside, his mind was a battlefield.The elders had summoned him.“They grow impatient,” muttered Kael, the hunter who had been his closest guide since his arrival. “You’ve proven your strength, Jonas, but the elders want assurance that your spirit belongs to the hunters. They believe you were sent by the gods themselves. They will test you today.”Jonas nodded, though unease weighed heavy in his chest. How could he explain the visions? The child’s face that wouldn’t leave him? The name that haunted him every time he closed his eyes?He walked into the great hall, the air thick with incense and the weight of centuries. The elders sat in a half-circle, their cloaks adorned with wolf pelts and symbols of power. At their center was E