Three nights after the pack was given the name Stormfang, the first vision appeared out of nowhere. When the world fell apart, Savannah and Mason were grinding dried moonroot by lamplight in the herb hut.She let go of the pestle. Black and then crimson blood spurted from her nose. When Heath rushed through the door, she fell backward into his arms as her eyes rolled white, pure, dazzling white. The hut disappeared. Beneath a green fire-bleeding sky, she stood on a plain of black glass. Forests burnt without fire all around her. Rivers bolted backward. Millions of wolves lay in heaps, their yellow eyes looking at nothing while their fur sloughed from bones. Taller than mountains, a tree composed of antlers and shadow rose in the middle. Its roots drank the moon itself and pierced the ground. Every wolf she had ever loved, Heath, Scarlett, Vance, Mason, and pups she had never met, hung from its branches. They continued to breathe (shallow, unending, conscious) after having their th

Spring came early to the Hollow.The black ice that had choked the crater for centuries melted into swift, clear streams that sang over stones no one remembered being round. Grass (thick, emerald, stubborn) swallowed the last patches of frozen blood. Ironwood saplings, carried south in packs and saddlebags, took root with almost indecent speed, as if the land itself was impatient to forget what it had been.On the first day the sun rose warm enough to work without cloaks, Heath called the survivors together.Three thousand had walked out of the crater. Two thousand nine hundred and twelve stood on the new grass now.They gathered in a wide half-circle on the eastern ridge (wolves, dwarves, Ghost Fang riders, the handful of humans who had fought beside them). Children sat on shoulders. The wounded leaned on spears. Everyone faced the place where the Umbral Alpha had died: a low hill already crowned with white flowers that glowed faintly when the moon was new.Heath stood at the centre,

The world turned toxic when they arrived in the Marsh of Whispers on the ninth night.Every stride they took was accompanied by a moist sucking sound that sounded like flesh tearing as the ground loosened beneath their boots. The black river reflected a starless sky and pooled ankle-deep, knee-deep, and waist-deep. Around them, gaunt, skeletal trees covered in gray moss swayed in the absence of wind. The air tasted of sweet copper and decay.Scarlett led, twin daggers at the ready, silver bow unstrung to keep it dry. Vance trailed after, breathing slowly through a handkerchief drenched in moss while holding an axe across his back. Mason hobbled to the center, holding the oilskin-covered hide map. Savannah was the last to arrive, her shadows encircling the group like a living cloak and scanning the atmosphere for dangers.Before they had walked a hundred steps, the first whisper was heard.You abandoned them to perish.Scarlett's head jerked to the left. Just hanging moss and black wat

The tunnel led to a huge room beneath a drowned lake that shouldn't have been there. As if the moon itself had been trapped and subdued within the stone, white marble rose in flawless arches a hundred feet above the ground, veined with silver that gleamed steadily and softly. The air tasted of old frost, and it was chilly and dry; there was no dripping water. The sound of their feet sounded like heartbeats. Perched on a balcony, they had a view of the Hall of Kings. A central aisle below was lined with two hundred statues, life-size wolves carved from single pieces of white quartz. With their heads held high and their eyes inlaid with starlight opal that reflected the shifting colors of the silver glow, each one stood with pride. They had strong, stubborn, and sad expressions instead of calm ones (wolves who had battled despite knowing they would lose everything). At the extreme end, on a black glass dais, was the biggest statue: an elephant-sized White Wolf with fur that rippled a

When the Sun-Shard awoke, they were halfway across the causeway. Heath had insisted on carrying the silk-wrapped crystal the last few miles, and Scarlett had just handed it to him. The shard met anchor-blood and identified him as soon as his fingers closed around it. Night gave way to blinding midday as golden light sprang forth, as strong as a newborn sun. The lake responded. The water boiled. Towers of white marble shattered like bullets from rifles. Their boots caused the causeway to buckle. A sound emerged from the depths—not a scream or a roar, but the exhale of stone that had held its breath for six hundred years throughout the entire city. Heath's eyes grew wide. The shard pulsed in sync with the silver wolf-mark on his chest, burning hot against his hand. "It knows me," he murmured, his fear and wonder intertwined. The city thereafter started to die. Slow, elegant avalanches brought down arches. The First Wolves' statues fell, their features calm even as they broke. Wit