The earth was still warm where the Thornmother had fallen.
Rowan knelt among the blackened soil, sifting through the ashes with calloused fingers. Beneath the surface, something pulsed—soft, rhythmic, and wrong.
Kael stood a few paces away, arms crossed, firelight flickering against his bronze skin. "What are we looking for, exactly?"
Rowan didn't look up. "A ghost."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "You think she left a piece of herself?"
Rowan nodded once. "Something older than her. Something she was feeding."
---
The twins approached in silence.
Theron stopped short, shadows trailing behind his boots like mist. "There's something under the dirt."
"I feel it too," Elira whispered, kneeling beside Rowan. Her fingers glowed as she touched the ground, and the ash responded—lifting in threads, like smoke reversing its fall.
Together, they cleared a circular space about two feet wide.
And there it was.
A stone seal—etched with runes no one recognized. Interlocking spirals. A double crescent. An eye.
Theron's voice dropped. "This is older than the forest."
Rowan brushed the edge. "This wasn't Liraith's power. She just opened the gate."
Kael stepped forward, but Elira held up her hand.
"Don't touch it."
---
Selene arrived then, wind in her hair, her cloak darkened with soot. She paused when she saw the seal, her expression unreadable.
"That symbol," she murmured. "I've seen it before. In a vision."
Naeria appeared behind her, breath short from rushing. When she saw the runes, her eyes widened.
"That's… impossible."
Rowan stood. "What is it?"
Naeria circled the seal slowly. "This is the sigil of the Ancients—the firstborn Moonbound, before the wolf line split from the fey. Before shadow and starlight chose sides."
Selene's brows knitted. "But they're a myth."
Naeria met her eyes.
"Not anymore."
---
They unearthed it fully by nightfall.
The seal opened like a puzzle, its rings turning at the touch of magic—first Elira's starlight, then Theron's shadow. Rowan added a drop of blood, and it hissed like steam.
A gap split open in the earth.
A chamber beneath the grove.
Cold, undisturbed.
Lit by veins of pale moonstone that pulsed faintly as they stepped inside.
The walls were covered in murals—ancient, weathered, but unmistakable.
Selene gasped softly.
One image showed a woman with silver hair, holding two infants.
One glowed.
One wept shadow.
---
"That's us," Elira whispered.
Rowan stared.
"No," he said. "That's before you were born."
---
They followed the carvings along the walls.
A great wolf cloaked in moonlight.
A lover with burning eyes.
A betrayal wrapped in thorns.
And finally—
A prophecy.
It was written in a dialect only Naeria could partially decipher.
But what she translated chilled them.
> When fire and starlight birth twins under a cracked moon... the blood of Ancients shall rise again. One will carry light. The other, the door. The fate of both worlds will hang in their balance.
Kael's voice came rough. "The door?"
Naeria paled. "It means Theron."
---
They stood in silence, the chamber pressing around them like an echo.
Selene turned to her son, who stood still, his mouth tight, fists clenched.
"You're not a threat," she said softly.
Theron didn't meet her eyes. "But I'm the door to one."
Elira gripped his hand. "Then we keep it closed."
Naeria touched the last part of the prophecy. "There's more."
She read it slowly.
> And should shadow awaken the Ancients' chain, the world of wolves shall bleed anew. Only the firebound mate may choose the end.
Everyone turned to Kael.
He met Selene's eyes.
And nodded once.
---
They left the chamber in silence.
Above ground, the sky was ink-black, clouds sweeping over the moon.
Rowan lingered at the edge of the grove.
He stared at the seal before they covered it again.
"Not all stories stay buried," he murmured.
Selene stood beside him. "They were never just stories."
Rowan turned to her, eyes dark and solemn.
"We need to prepare. Whatever Liraith stirred—it's just the beginning."
---
That night, Selene sat alone beneath the stars, the words echoing in her mind.
> Only the firebound mate may choose the end.
She wrapped Kael's cloak tighter around her shoulders.
And whispered into the dark:
"I won't let them fall. Not to prophecy. Not to fear."
Behind her, Kael emerged from the shadows.
"You won't face it alone."
And when their hands met—flame and moonlight—
The ground stopped whispering.
But the Ancients had already begun to wake.
---