Sleep had become a battlefield.
Every time Kian closed his eyes, the world inside him fractured — shards of light, silver and gold, twisting together like storm clouds trying to become whole. He'd given up trying to rest; instead, he sat by the window, watching the moon drift through a veil of clouds.
Its glow made his mark burn again.
Mira had said it was healing. He knew better.
It was calling.
He rose and crossed to the mirror opposite the bed. The reflection that stared back wasn't the one he remembered — shadows under his eyes, the hint of light flickering behind his pupils. He pressed his wrist to the glass, and the mark shimmered like a heartbeat trapped beneath his skin.
"Why won't you let me go?" he murmured.
No answer, but the air in the room shifted. The candles flickered though there was no breeze.
Then, faintly, he heard it again — a voice, soft as a sigh, brushing the edge of thought.
Kian…
He froze.
This time, it wasn't imagination. The sound came with warmth — the ghost of touch, the scent of rain and pine.
His pulse surged. "Who are you?"
The name hovered in his throat, but his mind refused to form it. Every time he tried, the word splintered.
The air crackled, a spark jumping from his fingertips to the metal frame of the mirror. For a heartbeat, his reflection changed. Another face appeared beside his own — a woman's, her eyes silver, her expression fierce and tender at once.
He reached out, but the image shattered like glass.
The room plunged into darkness.
Outside, the forest stirred.
Wolves howled — not the ordinary night-call, but something older, more instinctive. The sound rolled through the valley and up the cliffs, waking the pack.
Aiden burst into the corridor just as Kian stepped out of his room. "Alpha—did you feel that?"
"Yes." His voice was quiet but sharp. "It's not one of ours."
"The howl came from beyond the eastern ridge. That's wasteland. No pack's lived there for years."
Kian's eyes narrowed. "Then something has."
Aiden hesitated. "Should I summon the guard?"
Kian shook his head. "No. This is mine."
The ride through the forest was wordless. The moonlight filtered through branches, painting the path in shifting silver. Kian's horse moved like a shadow, breath pluming in the cold air.
He hadn't realized until now how much he'd missed this — the rhythm of hooves, the smell of damp earth, the way the night seemed to recognize him.
Yet something was different. The deeper he rode, the more alive the woods felt — like they were waiting.
Halfway through the old clearing, his horse snorted and stopped dead.
"What is it?"
Kian dismounted, scanning the trees. The forest held its breath again. No wind. No sound.
Then he saw it.
A faint shimmer, low to the ground — not fire, not moonlight, but something in between. He crouched, brushing aside leaves until his fingers met stone.
A shard of crystal. Gold light pulsed faintly within.
His chest tightened.
He didn't know why, but it felt like finding something he'd been searching for all his life.
The crystal warmed in his palm, and a single word echoed through his mind — soft, certain, and familiar:
Remember.
Kian staggered back, the word cutting through him like lightning. Images flickered behind his eyes — a woman's hand reaching for his, a voice whispering his name against the wind, a promise made under the broken moon.
The pain that followed was sharp and clean, like the edge of memory returning.
"Lyra," he breathed.
The name slipped free, effortless, right.
And the forest answered.
Every wolf for miles raised its head and howled. The air filled with light — threads of silver snaking through the trees, converging on him, wrapping around his arm until the mark on his wrist blazed gold.
The power thrummed under his skin, wild and alive.
He fell to one knee, breath shuddering, clutching the crystal to his chest.
For the first time in weeks, he remembered her face — not perfectly, but enough to feel the weight of her absence.
And somewhere, far beyond the veil, she felt it too.
Lyra stopped mid-step, the gold shard in her hand flaring to life.
Her heart leapt. She didn't know why — only that something inside her had shifted, as if the world itself had remembered how to breathe.
The trees whispered in voices only she could hear.
He knows.
Lyra's breath caught. "Then it's begun."
The wind rose, carrying the faint echo of a howl — one that didn't belong to any living wolf.