Lauren stood at the grove’s edge. “This is it,” she murmured, breath fogging in the cold. The trees inside spiraled unnaturally, their roots coiling like snakes.“The wind doesn’t even move here,” she muttered, stepping forward. The ground felt off. Alive. Watching.She tightened her cloak’s silver clasp and crossed the threshold. The Hollow Stone Grove which was sacred once, now feared was exactly as her grandmother’s book had warned.“No one remembers you,” Lauren said, glancing at the silent trees. “But I do.”Her fingers brushed the glyph stitched into her sleeve. That glyph had led her here—hidden deep in her grandmother’s spells.Each step pulled heavier than the last. The magic wasn’t passive; it pressed down, thick in the air.Finally, she reached it.“There you are,” she whispered.The Hollow Stone. A massive black slab, buried halfway in the earth, runes glowing with a pulse like a slowed heartbeat.She knelt and pressed her hands to its surface.“I call the blood, Witch bor

The stone door groaned shut behind Dylan, sealing off the forge and the enclave like a memory he could no longer touch. The chamber he stepped into was circular and hollow, with shadows curling in its corners. Only a single torch burned near the center, its flame a strange green hue that flickered like it breathed. A voice echoed from somewhere within the darkness, low and ancient. “Do you know who you are?” Dylan moved cautiously forward, scanning the space. “I know enough,” he said, his voice calm but alert. The voice replied, almost sad. “No. You know the edges. But not the wound.” As if summoned by those words, symbols began to glow along the walls—pulsing runes that spiraled outward to form a ring. Within them, memories emerged like reflections in rippling water. He saw himself as a child, standing outside a crumbling house while a man shouted at a woman whose eyes burned with unnatural light. His father. His mother. The moment blurred into another: Dylan, bleeding and c

“This war is closer than i thought,” Lucas murmured as their wails echoed through the frozen cliffs of Frost Hollow, sharp and aching, bouncing off stone and ice like ghostly war cries from the past. “They might just be warning us this time,” Dan replied, adjusting the weight of his silver-forged crossbow across his chest. “This feels... final. Like the beginning of the end.” Lucas didn’t answer. He simply stood there at the front gate, breath steady, the Twin Fang blade strapped across his back. Flames from the torch stands danced in the wind behind him, casting long shadows of the wolves lined up in tight ranks. Magic tingled in the air, buzzing low like a brewing storm trapped beneath the earth. “You ever think we were meant to survive this?” Kalen asked, his voice quiet but sharp behind them. “That maybe we were built just to be the last ones standing?” “No one breathes during a war,” he added, with a grim chuckle that didn’t reach his eyes. Lauren walked up beside them, her

“You’re sure this is the only way?” Lucas asked, his voice low and uncertain, barely audible beneath the hum of ancient magic.He stood beneath the jagged arches of Frost Hollow’s inner sanctum, where the moonlight filtered through high crevices, casting long silver bars across the cold, uneven stone floor. The fire pits had been extinguished, leaving behind only the lingering scent of burnt sage and the soft, rhythmic murmurs of the witches preparing the ritual.Lauren stood at the center of a glowing circle, her hands faintly illuminated by the power coursing through her. “It’s the only way to face what’s inside you without letting it consume everything you are.”Lucas exhaled slowly, his breath fogging in the cold air. “So... I let it speak to me?”“No,” she replied firmly, her eyes locking onto his with unwavering resolve. “You make it listen.”Around them, six witches of the Silent Moon moved gracefully into position, their movements fluid and silent beneath their dark hoods. The

The war council tent was a furnace of tension.Lucas stood at the center, the Hollow Stone scroll clutched tightly in his hand. The name scrawled across it—D. Blake—weighed heavier than any blade he had ever held.Around him, voices erupted.“Proof is proof!” a rogue wolf snarled, slamming his fist on the table with a loud thud. “His name’s right there on the scroll. What else do you need—blood on his claws?”A ripple of agreement followed, with some nodding grimly while others growled under their breath.Skylar stood near the entrance, her arms folded tightly across her chest, eyes fixed on Dylan like twin daggers ready to strike.Dylan remained silent, his expression unreadable and cold.Dan stepped in between them, raising a calming hand. “We don’t know who planted this,” he said firmly. “It could’ve been forged, or part of a deeper misdirection. We’ve seen tricks like this before.”“But what if it wasn’t a trick?” a hybrid barked from across the table. “We’re supposed to follow Lu