While stalking the wolves, Kael stumbled into a hidden chamber.
At its center stood a broken altar of black stone, covered in chains that glowed faintly with runes. Upon it knelt a girl. Or rather—something shaped like one.
Her skin was pale, almost translucent, her hair silver, her wrists bound by spectral shackles. Her eyes opened slowly as Kael entered, glowing faintly blue.
"…A child?" she whispered, voice hoarse, brittle as glass.
Kael stepped back, raising his shard defensively. Moro gurgled, unsure.
The girl smiled faintly, though sadness lingered in her expression.
"No… not a child. You carry the mark."
Kael froze. "…You know it?"
She nodded. "I am Ilyra. Shackled here… cursed by the dungeon itself. And you… you are its chosen."
Kael's grip tightened. "Then you're my enemy."
"No," she said softly. "If I wished you dead, I would not warn you. The Alpha hunts you already."
Kael's eyes widened. He could hear it now — a low growl echoing through the tunnels. The pack was moving.
Ilyra's chains rattled as she reached a trembling hand toward him.
"Release me… and I will help you survive."
Kael hesitated, every instinct screaming to distrust her. Yet the growls drew closer. Moro pressed against his leg, trembling.
"…Fine," Kael hissed. "But if you betray me—"
Her faint smile deepened. "I won't live long enough to."