KAEL – POV
The eastern corridor was a blur. Stone, smoke, heat. My boots thundered against the flagstones, each impact ricocheting through my spine like a war drum. Ayla's howl still rang in my head, not fading—echoing. Beckoning. My wolf clawed just beneath the surface, begging to shift, to run faster, to tear through whatever cage held her.
The halls twisted, narrow and old, rarely used since the last war. Dust danced in the torchlight. I turned the final corner—and stopped.
The ancient door at the corridor's end pulsed with silver light. The protective runes etched into the wood had ignited, flaring hot with Ayla's power. The guards posted here were unconscious, chests rising shallow, skin pale. No blood. Just drained.
I pressed a hand to the door. Warm. Too warm.
"Ayla," I whispered.
The moment my fingers met the wood, the seal cracked.
Light exploded outward. I staggered back, shielding my face.
Then the door creaked open.
