Dawn bled over the treeline, pale and cold, as Aria spread the stolen treaty on a broken altar stone. The ink glimmered like venom in the light—signatures, seals, promises written in other people's blood.
Lucien stood watch, silent but taut as a bowstring. "Once this goes public, the Council will call it treason. Ours, not theirs."
Aria traced the Council seal with a fingertip. "Then we move first."
The wind shifted, bringing the faintest notes of smoke. Not village smoke—campfires. Armies. She felt it under her skin before she heard it: the low tremor of feet marching in earth, the distant thrum of a horn. The war wasn't approaching; it was already here.
She folded the treaty and slid it inside her vest. The paper was warm against her ribs. "No more secrets. We gather the covens and the free packs, anyone who won't bend to puppeteers. We show them the truth."
"And Kael?" Lucien asked.
Her breath caught on his name. In the briefest flicker, she saw the boy he used to be—mud on his boots, moonlight in his laugh—before the Alpha's crown sharpened him into a blade.
"I face him myself," Aria said. "Not as the girl he rejected. As what I am now."
A twig cracked. Both of them turned.
A young runner, barely more than a fledgling, stumbled from the brush and dropped to one knee. "My Lady… reports from the ridge. Wolves massing at Blackwater Pass. Not Kael's colors alone. Others. Many."
"How long?" Lucien snapped.
"By nightfall."
Aria nodded once. "Send word to every ally we have. We meet them at the pass." The runner sprinted away, branches whipping behind him.
Lucien stepped closer, voice low. "If you light the sky today, there's no turning back."
"There wasn't, the moment they wrote my life into a bargain." She flexed her fingers; sparks crawled over her knuckles, eager, alive. The fire no longer frightened her. It answered her.
He searched her eyes like he might find a different answer hidden there. "Then make me a promise."
Aria lifted her chin. "Name it."
"When you choose what to burn," he said, "remember what you're trying to save."
She let the words settle. The treaty's edge bit her palm, a small, grounding pain. "I swear it. No more mindless flames. Only oaths—and consequences."
Lucien's mouth curved, almost a smile. "Then let them come."
Aria turned to the ridge. The morning was brighter now, but the light felt like a challenge. She drew in a breath that tasted of iron and ash and lifted her hand.
A thin column of fire rose into the sky—no scream, no roar, just a blade of light slicing the clouds. A signal. A summons. A promise.
Across the valley, horns answered.
Aria closed her fist, and the flame vanished. "The Blood Wars begin with truth."
She started toward the pass, the treaty against her heart and the future
at her back, and did not look behind her.
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