The cavern still shimmered with emerald light when a sudden pulse tore through the air.
Silver radiance burst upward, streaking like a pillar into the heavens, piercing through stone and sky alike.
Prava shielded her eyes, while Rafael instinctively moved closer to her. Allara, however, froze. Her chest rose sharply, her lips parting in shock.
"That light…" she whispered, her voice trembling.
From within the water, where Kaelthar's presence still lingered, the ripples parted again. This time, another form emerged—not a dragon, not a human, but something fierce, primal, radiant.
The silhouette of a wolf—vast, glowing, its fur a thousand shards of moonlight—rose and howled into the unseen night. Its voice echoed across every vein of stone, every drop of water.
The moment it faded, a figure appeared in its place. A youth, eyes burning with silver fire, his very breath carrying the weight of a lineage unbroken.
Allara gasped, stumbling forward.
"Father…!"
At that instant, another voice, weakened but steady, cut through the glow.
"Alara… that is the light. The guiding light of the Wolf Heir."
It was Obira, her father, still immersed within the sacred waters, his body pale and weakened from the venom laid by their enemies. Yet even in pain, his gaze was fierce as he watched the sky-splitting light.
"The path has opened," he murmured, voice heavy with both sorrow and pride. "The heir walks… and fate itself watches."
The cavern roared with echoes of battle.
Mist and silver spray veiled the ground as the ancient wolf's shadow leapt at Allara, its amber eyes blazing like fire.
Prava gasped. Rafael reached for his sword, but Obira's weak, trembling voice stopped him.
"Do not interfere. This is the trial of her blood. If you shield her, she will fail."
The clash of claws and will sparked visions in the water below.
Prava saw it—dragons and wolves clashing across frozen fields, their friendship poisoned by whispers of a demon lurking in the dark.
Her chest tightened when she recognized the figures:
The dragon—her father.
The wolf—Allara's ancestor.
The truth struck hard: it was never their will to be enemies. It was the demon's trick.
Obira's voice rang again, heavy with regret.
"It was never the dragon. Never the wolf. The demon almost stole the word 'friend' from us."
Allara's cry tore through the cavern, her body glowing with golden light.
"I carry the blood of the wolf—but I will not inherit their hatred!"
The wolf's phantom froze, then dissolved into streams of golden mist, wrapping around her like a blessing.
The dragon guardian spoke, his voice deep as stone.
"At last, the truth is known. Wolf and dragon—your bloodlines were meant to unite, not divide."
Rafael lowered his blade, his eyes steady.
"Dragon or wolf—it matters not. So long as demons breathe, we fight as one."
Prava stepped closer, her voice trembling yet resolute.
"From this day… no matter our race, we will not lose the word 'friend' again."
The cavern trembled. Emerald light burst upward, as though the ancestors themselves sealed a new covenant—stronger than any past enmity.