AYLA'S POV
Not the kind of cold that came from snow biting at skin or northern winds cutting into lungs. No—this cold seeped into the marrow, ancient and unrelenting.
My eyes snapped open to darkness. Not a cavern. Not the chamber Kael had fought in. This was… deeper. Older. The air hummed with power, thick and metallic, carrying a taste like blood and iron.
I sat up slowly. My wrists burned where the chains had been, the skin scorched but glowing faintly with silver marks—runes etched into my flesh as if seared there by divine fire.
The last thing I remembered was Kael's hand, his roar, the bond snapping free—then the abyss swallowing me whole.
Now, I was alone.
"Ayla Riverwind," a voice whispered, soft as silk, echoing from everywhere and nowhere.
I froze.
The darkness shifted, shapes moving within it. Not shadows like before, not faceless horrors—but outlines of wolves. Dozens. Hundreds. Their forms flickered like smoke, their eyes blazing silver.
The First Lunas.
