AYLA – POV
When we emerged from the tomb, the air felt older.
Like the forest itself had been holding its breath.
The crown didn't press against my head. It pulsed—subtle, steady, like a heartbeat not quite mine. The magic it carried whispered along my spine, ancient and undeniable.
I wasn't just Ayla anymore.
I was the storm the Seers had tried to forget.
Kael walked beside me, silent, but every step he took was measured. Rylan kept his distance, eyes shifting from shadow to shadow. None of us spoke.
Not yet.
The grove greeted us with silence. The ash tree stood at its center, blackened but proud. Beneath its branches, wolves gathered—rogues, banished betas, broken omegas. Scarred and uncertain.
I recognized them.
Not by name. By pain.
They stared at me like I was myth. Like I had torn myself from a page of prophecy and stepped into flesh.
I walked through them, each step sinking into the soft, damp earth.
One wolf bowed his head.
Then another.
Then twenty.
