I barely slept that night.
The fire still burned in my memory—not from the hearth or the torches that lit the stronghold, but from her hands. Aria's silver fire, raw and divine, seared into the darkness like a sword made of the sun itself.
She had wielded it like instinct. As if she had always known it was there. But I knew better.
Power like that does not emerge without cost.
I stood at the balcony of my chamber, watching the treetops sway under the weight of the wind. A new season approached, and with it came more than the usual winter frost. The air smelled like prophecy, thick with the scent of something ancient stirring awake.
The Flame was no longer a tale for the old wolves to whisper around fires.
She was here. Flesh and blood. And mine to protect.
By morning, the weight of our recent victory had already begun to settle into the bones of the pack. Talia was leading the warriors in drills again. Jarek was training the younger wolves to track in silence. The healers cleaned their tools, and the mothers returned to baking bread and washing clothes in the river.
It looked like peace.
But I knew it was only the eye of the storm.
Aria sat near the fire pit, sharpening a dagger she had never used. Her eyes followed each motion, slow and steady, the way a predator watches water ripple before the strike.
I approached her quietly.
"You have not spoken since last night," I said.
"I have too much to think about," she answered, not lifting her gaze.
"You are afraid."
"I am changing," she replied. "That frightens me more."
She finally looked up. Her eyes were not like before. They were still warm, still human in color—but behind them burned something new. A depth, a pull. Something old. Something elemental.
"You should fear change," I said. "It is the first test. But do not run from it. Let it sharpen you."
"I do not want to become something I cannot control," she whispered.
"You already are," I said. "But you are not alone."
That afternoon, we ventured to the cliffs.
The old stones still held the scent of battle. Blood had dried in the cracks, and broken weapons lay scattered like bones at a feast. Ravens perched nearby, watching us with their coal-black eyes.
Aria stood at the edge, letting the wind tug at her hair.
"This was where I saw him," she said.
"Veyran's shadow," I murmured.
She nodded.
"It spoke in my mind. No words, just a pull. Like it wanted me to step forward, to fall."
I placed my hand on her shoulder.
"He will try again. But shadows only hold power when you fear them."
She turned to me.
"I want to learn how to use what is inside me. All of it."
"Then we begin," I said.
Training her was unlike anything I had done before.
She did not think like a wolf. She was not bound by instinct or blood memory. Her thoughts were sharper, unpredictable. But her spirit was wild in its own way, untamed and fierce.
We started with the basics—movement, stance, breath. How to read the tension of the earth, the weight of silence, the signal of danger in the trees.
She was a fast learner.
But the fire… the fire was different.
It only came when her emotions surged. Fear, pain, rage—they ignited the spark. And so, I pushed her.
Harder than I should have.
On the fourth day, I took her into the ravine where we kept the captured shades—creatures not quite vampire, not quite beast. Twisted things created by blood experiments. They were dangerous but controlled. Chained in runes, unable to break free.
"Why are we here?" she asked.
"To teach you fear," I said.
I cut the runes.
The shade lunged. Fast. A blur of claws and shrieks.
Aria screamed—and the fire burst from her chest, wild and bright, crashing into the shade and setting it ablaze in silver light.
When it died, she dropped to her knees, panting.
"You did not warn me," she gasped.
"No," I said. "Because war will not warn you either."
She did not speak again that day.
Later that night, I found her by the river. She was washing blood from her arms, her hands trembling.
"I hate this," she said.
"I know."
"I do not want to kill."
"No one truly does."
"But I have to, don't I?"
"Yes," I answered. "Because if you don't, others will die."
She stared at the water.
"I was not made for this."
"Neither was I," I said.
She looked at me, surprised.
"I was born to be heir, not Alpha. My father raised me to lead councils, not armies. But fate has no care for design. It throws you into the fire and watches what you become."
Her voice softened.
"And what did you become?"
"A weapon. And then… something more."
She reached out, her fingers brushing mine.
"Do you regret it?"
"No," I said.
"Why not?"
"Because it led me to you."
The next morning, the scent of death returned.
It came from the west, drifting across the hills like smoke. Burned trees. Human flesh. Iron.
The village of Revan Hollow.
I gathered the pack quickly. We ran through the thickets and reached the edge by dusk.
What we found there will haunt me to the end of my days.
The village was gone. Burned to cinders. Men, women, children—all slaughtered. Their blood painted the ground, drawn in symbols.
It was a message.
Veyran had come.
But he had not stayed.
He left one survivor.
A child, no older than seven. Hiding beneath a wagon, his eyes wide with terror, his body covered in ash.
He clung to me when I lifted him. Would not let go.
"What happened here?" I asked gently.
He only whispered one word.
"Eyes."
Back at the stronghold, the child slept under heavy protection. Aria sat beside him most of the night, keeping his hand in hers. She didn't cry, though I knew she wanted to.
She had grown.
The girl I met weeks ago would have wept until she fell asleep. But now she held her pain behind steel walls.
She was becoming a flame. One that did not flicker in the wind.
But I worried what it was costing her.
Later that night, I walked the perimeter alone. My wolves rested. The wind was still. But in the far distance, a shadow passed over the moon.
I knew then that Veyran was close.
Not just in magic.
Not just in whispers.
But near.
Watching.
Waiting.
The days after Revan Hollow blurred into preparation.
We reinforced the walls. Reforged our blades. Sent scouts deeper than ever before.
And I spent every moment I could with Aria.
Not just as her Alpha.
But as a man who had come to care too deeply.
We trained together. We studied the Flame. We spoke of the world before the war. She told me about music, books, her old life—laughter in small apartments, sun on her skin, the scent of coffee in the mornings.
Things I had never known.
Things I wanted her to have again.
"I will make a world where you can be safe," I told her once.
She smiled.
"Then promise you'll live long enough to see it."
But fate does not wait.
Not for dreams. Not for love.
The attack came without warning.
Midnight. Thunder rolled. The sky split open.
And they came.
Not just vampires.
But Nightborn.
Creatures from the old bloodlines, kept hidden for centuries. Black-winged horrors, with voices like knives and eyes that bled silver.
They tore through the trees like demons.
The first line of defense shattered.
I shifted before the alarm bell could ring. My claws sliced the first Nightborn that reached the gates. Blood sprayed across the stones. I howled—and the pack followed.
The stronghold became a battlefield.
Wolves leapt from the shadows. Steel clashed against cursed bone. Aria stood at the heart of it all, flames dancing from her arms, her eyes glowing with power.
I lost sight of her in the chaos.
And that terrified me more than anything.
I fought my way through the storm, calling her name.
Then I saw her—on the northern tower.
Veyran stood before her.
Not a shadow.
Not a projection.
But real.
Tall. Pale. Beautiful and monstrous. His cloak trailed like smoke. His smile was death.
"You have awakened," he said to her.
She held her ground.
"I am not yours."
He laughed.
"You were never meant to belong to a wolf."
"She belongs to no one," I growled, stepping beside her.
Veyran turned to me.
"So, you are the one she clings to. The Alpha who dares to touch what is divine."
"She is not a weapon. She is not your key. She is more than you will ever understand."
"Then let her choose," he said.
And in that moment, everything stopped.
Aria looked at me.
Then at him.
Her fire flared.
And she said one word.
"Never."
Veyran struck.
Lightning burst from his hand, slamming into the tower. Stone cracked. I leapt, pushing her aside. Pain tore through my side. Blood spilled. But I stayed standing.
I met his eyes.
"This is not your world anymore," I said.
Then I shifted, claws flashing, and I lunged.
And the true war began.