Later that night, long after the others had gone quiet, I lay awake with Elias curled against my side, his breathing soft and steady. But mine wasn’t.

  The storm knows you.

  I couldn’t stop replaying it—his voice, so calm, so certain, in that one fleeting moment. Like something had borrowed his tongue just to speak those words.

  And now… the storm was back.

  I could hear it outside, not loud yet, but present. A low, restless hum threading through the night like it was pacing just beyond the edge of the city. Watching. Waiting.

  I closed my eyes.

  And something shifted.

  For a heartbeat, I wasn’t lying in my bed. I was standing—barefoot on cold stone, the wind whipping my hair around my face. The air smelled of ash and rain. The sky above was a churning, unnatural red.

  And in front of me, a figure stood at the edge of a broken cliff. Cloaked. Unmoving. Faceless.

  I couldn’t see them clearly, but I knew—the same way I knew my own name—that they were the storm.

  And they were waiting for me.

  I gasped awake, heart pounding, sweat on my skin.

  Outside, the wind had stilled.

  sat up slowly, careful not to wake Elias. He stirred slightly, brow twitching, but didn’t wake.

  My hands were shaking.

  The dream—vision, memory, whatever it was—lingered too vividly to ignore. The wind had stopped the moment I woke. That wasn’t coincidence. That was linked.

  I pressed my fingers to my temples, breathing in, out. Trying to ground myself.

  But the grounding didn’t work this time.

  Because as I looked at Elias, I suddenly remembered a lullaby. One I’d never sung before. One I’d never heard before.

  And yet the words came, quiet and foreign on my tongue.

  “Under crimson skies they wait,

  Where shadow swells and silence breaks…”

  I stopped myself, throat tight.

  What was that?

  I’d never learned that song. No one had ever sung it to me. And yet it echoed in my mind like something old, ancient, half-buried.

  I stood, wrapping a blanket around myself, and stepped toward the window. Outside, the streets were still. The city slept.

  But above the rooftops, far off over the trees

  The storm crouched on the horizon like a beast at rest.

  Waiting.

  The floor was cold beneath my feet as I moved through the halls, Elias limp and warm against my shoulder. He hadn’t stirred since the dream—his dream? My dream? I didn’t know anymore.

  The door to the children’s room was slightly ajar, a soft glow coming from within. I nudged it open with my hip.

  Kailaa was curled up on her side, hand tucked beneath her cheek, breathing slow and steady. The bed she shared with Elias was still rumpled on one side—waiting.

  I hesitated for just a second before laying him down gently beside her. His fingers twitched once, then relaxed as he settled into the familiar space. I brushed a hand over both their heads, just lightly.

  Stay asleep. Stay safe.

  Then I stepped out and moved to the door beside theirs—our room. Mine and Apolloh’s.

  Inside, it was quiet. The fire had burned low, casting soft shadows along the stone walls. The air felt warmer here, more grounded. I hadn’t realized how much I missed that until now.

  Apolloh was awake. Sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, head bowed, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose like he’d been waiting up.

  When he looked up at me, his eyes softened—but not with surprise.

  “You felt it too, didn’t you?” he asked quietly.

  I didn’t answer. I just nodded and shut the door behind me.

  I didn’t speak right away.

  Instead, I crossed the room, bare feet silent on the stone, and drifted toward the bassinet tucked near the hearth—our little constellation of souls, sleeping in soft, uneven rhythms.

  Liora had kicked her blanket halfway off again. Lyra’s thumb had found its way to her mouth. Elara’s fingers were curled tight around nothing. Riven lay utterly still, his brow furrowed even in sleep.

  I leaned over them, brushing a hand across each downy head in turn. They didn’t stir, but something in me did—some tight knot pulling just a little tighter.

  I wasn’t even aware I was crying until the heat touched my cheek.

  The lullaby whispered again in my head, unwelcome and haunting.

  “Where shadow swells and silence breaks…”

  Behind me, Apolloh’s voice was soft. “You sang something. Just now.”

  I turned slowly, wiping my face with the edge of my sleeve. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Did you… know it?”

  I shook my head. “Not until it was already in my mouth.”

  He rose, his movement quiet, careful. He crossed the room in just a few strides and stopped a foot away. “This is starting to feel like more than echoes.”

  I met his gaze. “It is more.”

  “I heard the wind stop,” he said. “Like someone cut the world off mid-breath.”

  My hands curled at my sides. “It knew me. In the dream. Or… memory. Whatever it was.”

  “The storm knows you,” he echoed Elias’s words. “That wasn’t just a dream.”

  “I know.” My voice cracked. “And it’s not just after me.”

  His expression shifted, concern deepening. “The four?”

  I glanced back toward the bassinet. “I don’t know. But… it’s watching. And it’s waiting.”

  For a moment, we just stood there, the room lit only by the dying fire and the moonlight spilling in through the high window.

  He reached for my hand, and I let him take it.

  Neither of us said anything more.

  But we didn’t need to.

  We stayed like that for a while—my hand in Apolloh’s, the fire popping softly behind us, the four breathing their uneven lullaby in the corner.

  I didn’t want to let go.

  Not of him.

  Not of this moment.

  Not of the illusion that everything would still be fine by morning.

  But the air felt different now. Like it was listening.

  I moved toward the window, my fingers trailing from Apolloh’s grasp. The moon was high, clouds skimming across its face like tattered sails. The storm still hadn’t moved. Still crouched on the edge of the world like a predator with too much patience.

  As I watched, a flicker moved beneath it—just for a second.

  Something walking upright.

  Too far to make out details. Too wrong in the way it moved.

  I blinked, and it was gone.

  I didn’t say anything. Not yet.

  Just stepped back from the window and lay down beside Apolloh, curling in close as the fire dimmed.

  He didn’t ask what I saw.

  And I didn’t tell him.

  Because something told me we’d both know soon enough.

  ——

  Unknown POV

  The nursery was dim and quiet, the soft shuffle of blankets the only sound.

  Elias stirred first.

  A twitch. A furrowed brow. Then a soft, sharp breath as his eyes flew open.

  He sat up slowly, blinking at the darkness. His small hands clenched the edge of the blanket as his lips moved silently—like he was still speaking to someone in the dream.

  Across from him, Kailaa shifted, sensing him before seeing him. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, voice groggy. “Eli?”

  He didn’t answer at first.

  Then he whispered, barely louder than the silence: “It’s calling again.”

  Kailaa frowned. “What is?”

  “I don’t know.” He looked at her, and there was something too old in his eyes. “But it’s loud now. And close. And it wants Momma.”

  Kailaa slipped out of bed, grabbing his hand. “We need to tell them.”

  Together, they padded down the hall, small feet nearly silent on the stone.

  In the room just next door, Laika stirred before they even reached the door. Her heart was already racing. The air had changed.

  A soft knock.

  Then Elias’s voice, too steady for his age:

  “Momma? It’s back.”

  ——

  Laika’s POV

  was already awake.

  I hadn’t meant to be—not fully—but something in me wouldn’t let go. My body was still, my breathing slow, but my thoughts kept turning like wind caught in a trap. That dream, the storm, the feeling in my chest like something was watching me from the inside out—it hadn’t faded.

  Then came the knock.

  Soft. Hesitant.

  “Momma? It’s back.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Elias.

  My eyes flew open, and I was already moving before the door creaked open. Elias stood there in the glow of the fire’s last embers, Kailaa just behind him, her hand fisted in the hem of his shirt.

  He walked straight to me, eyes wide, face pale in the low light. He looked like he hadn’t really come back from wherever he’d just been.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered. “But I saw it again. The storm. And something was in it. Like last time. But closer.”

  I sat up, careful not to shift the mattress too much and wake the four. My heart had already picked up speed.

  Apolloh stirred beside me, groaning quietly as he pushed himself upright. “What do you mean ‘closer’?” I asked, reaching for Elias, brushing the hair from his forehead.

  He shook his head, a tremble in his voice. “It was watching. It saw me.”

  Kailaa’s voice came in soft behind him. “I think… I think it was looking for you.”

  Apolloh was up now, fully awake, the weight in his posture shifting. “That’s the second time, Elias,” he said. “The second time you’ve seen something that shouldn’t be possible.”

  “I didn’t want to,” Elias blurted, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “I know,” I said, pulling him into my arms. His small frame curled against me like he’d been waiting for the world to make sense again. “You did the right thing.”

  My eyes lifted to Apolloh as I held our son close.

  And in that silence—between one breath and the next—we both knew:

  Whatever this was, it wasn’t staying in dreams much longer.

  ——

  Elias stayed tucked against me, his fingers fisted gently in my shirt like he didn’t want to let go. I didn’t ask him to. I just held him tighter.

  Kailaa hesitated for a breath before stepping closer. Her lip quivered, her eyes bright with something she didn’t quite have words for yet—but I knew what it was. She climbed into my other arm without saying anything.

  I wrapped them both in the blanket and drew them close, one on each side, their small bodies warm and solid against mine.

  “I’ve got you,” I whispered. “You’re safe.”

  Kailaa buried her face in my collarbone. Elias’s breathing had already started to slow, the dream fading but not gone.

  I rocked them gently—barely a sway—until the tension in their limbs melted and they both slipped back into sleep. I could feel the weight of it when it happened, that small shift from holding on to resting.

  I looked up. Apolloh hadn’t said a word. He sat back, watching me with that steady, unreadable look he always wore when he didn’t know how to fix something but would die trying anyway.

  Without needing to ask, he pulled back the blankets.

  I lay them down carefully—Elias first, then Kailaa—between us. The bed was just big enough for all four of us when we curled in tight, and for once I was grateful for its size.

  Apolloh reached over them and found my hand again. His thumb brushed over my knuckles once, and then stilled.

  The fire had burned down to embers now. The wind outside had quieted.

  But I didn’t close my eyes.

  Not yet.

  Apolloh drifted off not long after the twins did.

  I could feel the way his hand relaxed in mine, the slight shift in his breath as sleep claimed him. He’d always slept lightly, but tonight even he was worn thin.

  I stayed where I was, unmoving.

  The four of us lay in a quiet tangle, the twins breathing soft and slow between us. Elias had one hand curled near his cheek, and Kailaa’s head had slipped to rest against my arm.

  I watched them.

  Counted every freckle, every rise and fall of their little chests. Brushed my thumb over a lock of Elias’s hair that had fallen into his face. Listened to the silence.

  And all I could think was: How many nights like this do we have left?

  Not out of fear. Not entirely.

  But because I could feel it—something shifting just beneath the skin of the world. A stirring, a turning.

  The storm wasn’t done with us. And something in it had seen my son.

  My arms tightened around them instinctively.

  I would not let it take them.

  Not any of them.

  Not even if it knew my name.

  ——

  Morning came slow, pale light creeping in past the curtains.

  The fire had long gone cold.

  I hadn’t slept. Not really. But I stayed still, letting the warmth of Elias and Kailaa between us anchor me in the moment just a little longer.

  Eventually, the quiet gave way to footsteps outside the door. Low voices. The sounds of life returning to the halls—tentative, like even the day didn’t want to wake too loudly.

  A knock came not long after.

  Not urgent, but firm.

  Apolloh stirred first, blinking himself awake. He looked at me, at the twins, then toward the door.

  “I’ll get it,” he murmured, easing out from under the blankets.

  I stayed where I was, resting a hand on Kailaa’s back as she breathed steadily against my side.

  The door opened. I heard the low murmur of voices—recognition in Apolloh’s tone, then a pause that made my heart skip.

  He stepped back inside a moment later, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

  “They’re calling a meeting,” he said, voice quiet. “Council wants to gather the leadership. Word’s starting to spread.”

  “About the storm?”

  He nodded. “And about what Elias said yesterday. Someone told Caelen.”

  I closed my eyes for a beat, then sat up slowly, careful not to disturb the twins.

  So it begins.

  I dressed quickly, silently.

  Apolloh helped settle the twins back in their bed—Kira would be by soon, and they’d sleep a little longer. Elias stirred when I kissed his temple, but didn’t wake. Kailaa’s fingers clung to the blanket, her breathing still slow and even.

  I lingered just long enough to be sure they were warm, safe.

  Then I turned and walked out into the hall, Apolloh at my side.

  The corridors of the stronghold buzzed with a low, growing hum. Not loud, but watchful. Wolves passed us with nods or murmured greetings that didn’t quite meet the eyes. A few glanced past us toward the nursery door, then quickly away again.

  They’d heard.

  We descended the stairs and crossed into the meeting chamber—a wide, circular room carved deep into the stone heart of the stronghold. The high windows glowed with pale light, dust catching in the beams like ash.

  The Elders were already there.

  Adrastea stood near the head of the table, her expression unreadable. Caelen was speaking to her in a low tone, arms crossed tight over his chest. Zia sat off to the side, one leg bouncing restlessly. Others filed in around them—captains, advisors, old warriors with deep lines around their eyes.

  And then they saw me.

  The air shifted. Just slightly.

  I felt it ripple under my skin.

  Caelen straightened. “Laika,” he said, and though his voice was even, something in it pressed against me like a warning. “Good. We were hoping you’d come before we sent for you.”

  I raised a brow. “Didn’t give you the chance.”

  A few of them chuckled under their breath. Most didn’t.

  I took my seat near the center, Apolloh standing behind me, calm and unreadable as ever.

  Adrastea watched me for a long moment. Then she spoke, her voice sharp as wind over snow:

  “Tell us again what the boy said.”

  I hesitated.

  Not because I didn’t know what to say.

  But because I did.

  Every word felt like a stone I was about to drop into still water—sure to ripple, sure to change things. There was no undoing this once it was spoken aloud.

  I looked around the circle. Caelen’s gaze was sharp, calculating. Zia’s was all restless concern. Adrastea… still as ever, but focused entirely on me, like she could already see what I hadn’t said yet.

  I drew in a breath.

  Then I spoke.

  “Elias had another dream last night,” I said. “He woke up saying the storm knows me.”

  A few murmurs flickered through the room like sparks.

  “I asked him what he meant,” I went on. “He didn’t remember saying it. But later—he came to us. Said he saw it again in a dream. The storm. A shape inside it. Watching. Closer than before.”

  Adrastea tilted her head, just slightly. “Did he say what it wanted?”

  I shook my head. “No. But Kailaa said it was looking for me.”

  That silenced the room.

  Not a cough. Not a breath.

  Just the weight of it hanging there.

  Caelen leaned forward, fingers steepled. “And do you believe them?”

  “I do.”

  “Why?”

  Because I feel it, I wanted to say. Because I’ve dreamed it. Because something inside me is screaming the closer it comes.

  But all I said was:

  “Because they’re mine. And they’ve never lied to me.”

  Adrastea’s eyes narrowed, but not with doubt. With thought.

  Then she looked to the others.

  “We need to decide,” she said, voice cool and clear. “Is this a warning we heed—or fear twisting the minds of children?”

  Silence held.

  A few of them shifted—subtle glances passed between captains and advisors, weight exchanged without words. I could feel it happening around me, like I wasn’t in the room so much as on trial in it.

  Then Caelen spoke.

  “If this is real,” he said slowly, “and I’m not saying it isn’t… then it’s no longer just about the weather. Dreams. Warnings. Symbols. We’ve seen these things before. But the storm is growing stronger. It’s changing.”

  Zia cut in, brows drawn. “You’re saying it’s conscious?”

  “I’m saying it may not be natural.”

  That set off a low tide of muttering. Nervous tension swelled at the edges of the circle. Someone said the word magic under their breath. Someone else muttered about the days before the fall.

  Adrastea held up one hand, and the room stilled again.

  “She has always felt the edge of it,” she said, her eyes on me. “Even before the four came. Before the howling wind and the eyes in the dark. Maybe it’s only now that the storm is speaking back.”

  I opened my mouth—then stopped.

  Because they were doing it. Making sense around me. Speaking like I wasn’t here. Like this thing, this weight pressing into my bones, was a mystery to study instead of something I was living.

  I stood.

  Not loudly. Not with anger.

  But the motion brought silence all the same.

  “You can argue about what this is,” I said, voice steady. “You can ask if it’s magic, or prophecy, or coincidence—but you weren’t the one holding him when he said it.”

  They watched me now.

  “He was afraid. Not just of a nightmare. Of something real. Something he felt. And so did I.”

  Caelen didn’t look away.

  I let the silence stretch.

  “I don’t care if you believe me,” I said finally. “But you’d be fools not to listen.”

  The meeting broke with slow reluctance—wolves trickling out in pairs and small clusters, voices low and urgent as plans began to form in the background. I didn’t wait to be dismissed.

  I rose quietly, leaving without looking back.

  The corridor outside the council chamber was colder than I remembered, though maybe that was just the weight I carried with me. My steps echoed, alone, until—

  “Laika.”

  I turned.

  Caelen stood just behind me, one hand braced against the stone archway. Zia lingered a few steps behind him, arms crossed, expression stormy and unreadable.

  “Got a minute?” he asked, already stepping closer.

  I nodded, though I didn’t trust my voice just yet.

  They didn’t speak until we’d ducked into a side passage—a narrower hall that looked out over the southern ridge. The wind cut through the open stone slats, but none of us flinched.

  “I know what Thalos said in there,” Caelen said first. “And I know how it sounded.”

  I didn’t respond.

  Zia did. “It was bullshit.”

  I blinked.

  She threw her hands up. “It was. I don’t care how long he’s been sitting in that room or how many laws he helped write—what he said was out of line.”

  “He was afraid,” I said quietly.

  Caelen looked at me sharply. “So were we. Doesn’t mean we turned it on you.”

  I turned toward the open window, resting my hands on the stone ledge. Below, the stronghold was waking fully—wolves moving in the courtyards, preparing for something none of us could name yet.

  “I’ve been here a year,” I said. “Lived in this place, fought for it, nearly died for it. And still—sometimes I wonder if they’re just waiting for me to prove them right.”

  “Then let me make something clear,” Caelen said, stepping up beside me. “You’re ours. You’ve been pack from the moment you stayed when you didn’t have to. The moment you took in those kids, when the whole world was falling apart. You didn’t wait for anyone to call you family—you acted like one.”

  Zia stepped beside him, bumping her shoulder gently against mine. “And if Thalos has a problem with that, he can take it up with me.”

  That almost made me smile.

  Almost.

  Caelen’s voice softened. “Whatever’s coming—you don’t have to carry it alone. You’re not outside looking in anymore, Laika. You are the pack.”

  I turned from the window, arms folding across my chest.

  “I know I don’t always say it,” I began, “but… I hear you. Both of you.”

  Zia gave a half-shrug, like it was nothing. Caelen just watched me, calm and steady.

  “I don’t need the whole council behind me,” I said. “But knowing I’m not standing there alone? It helps more than I can explain.”

  Zia smirked faintly. “You don’t have to explain. We just don’t want you burning out trying to prove something that’s already true.”

  I managed a breath of a smile.

  “I’m going to go check on the kids.”

  Caelen nodded. “We’ll handle the fallout here. Take the time you need.”

  I slipped away with that, boots soft against the stone as I made my way back up through the stronghold halls.

  The storm was still somewhere beyond the walls—but in here, it was quiet. Familiar.

  I reached the room a few minutes later.

  Kira was seated near the window, rocking slowly with Elias cradled in her arms, whispering something soft in his ear. Kailaa was curled up in the blankets beside her, thumb tucked near her cheek, peacefully asleep.

  Across the room, the four were nestled in their bassinets—Elara twitching slightly in a dream, Riven kicking off his blanket, Liora and Lyra tangled together the way they always ended up no matter how many times someone separated them.

  I crossed the room slowly.

  Kira looked up and gave me a small, knowing smile. “They’ve been good,” she whispered. “But I figured you’d be back sooner rather than later.”

  I knelt beside the twins first, brushing Kailaa’s curls back from her face, then reaching to gently shift Elias’s hair from his eyes.

  Still warm. Still breathing slow and steady.

  Still mine.

  Then I walked to the four.

  For a moment I didn’t speak. Just leaned in close, resting my hand over the edge of the bassinet, fingers drifting over their tiny, perfect heads one by one.

  And in that quiet, something in me eased. Not completely—but enough.

  Because whatever came next—

  This was what I was fighting for.

  I stayed there, beside the bassinet, fingers still resting gently against Lyra’s hair when the air shifted.

  Not cold. Not loud. Just… different.

  A faint pressure—like the moment before thunder rolls, when the world holds its breath.

  Kira’s head lifted, sharp and alert.

  “You feel that?” she whispered.

  I nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

  Behind me, Elias stirred. Kailaa murmured something in her sleep—too soft to make out. The four shifted too, a ripple moving through them like their dreams had suddenly shifted in tandem.

  Then a shadow crossed the doorway.

  I turned just as Apolloh stepped inside, brow furrowed, chest rising with the kind of breath you take when something wrong is in the air and your instincts are faster than your thoughts.

  His eyes landed on me. “Laika?”

  “It’s here,” I said, voice low, steady.

  He crossed to me without hesitation, stopping just short of touching—close enough that I could feel the tension radiating from him like heat.

  Kira stood too, her gaze flicking between the children and us.

  “I’ll stay with them,” she said. “Go.”

  I nodded once to Kira, meeting her eyes with a quiet gratitude that didn’t need words. Then I turned to Apolloh.

  We didn’t speak as we left the room.

  The hallway was darker than it should’ve been. Torches still burned in their sconces, casting flickering light, but it felt… dulled. Muted. Like the shadows had swallowed more than just the corners.

  We moved quickly—side by side, in step without trying to be. Out of the living quarters, down the winding stair toward the main entry. The further we went, the more wrong it felt.

  The air was thicker. Charged.

  By the time we reached the front doors of the stronghold, I could hear it—the wind, howling just beyond the stone. A sound not unlike the one that haunted my dreams.

  Apolloh reached for the door.

  “Wait,” I said quietly.

  He paused, turning his head.

  I didn’t know what I was waiting for. Just… something. A sign. A warning.

  And then—I felt it.

  A tug.

  Not physical. Not painful. But deep.

  Like something invisible had reached through the storm and wrapped itself around me.

  My knees nearly buckled. I grabbed the edge of the stone for balance, breath catching in my throat.

  “Laika?” Apolloh was beside me in an instant, hands on my arms. “What is it?”

  “I…” I blinked hard, the pressure still there, threading beneath my ribs. “It wants me.”

  His grip tightened.

  “I don’t know how I know,” I whispered, “but I do. It’s not just a storm. It’s searching. Calling.”

  He didn’t speak right away. Just studied me, his jaw tight.

  Then he turned, bracing both hands against the door—and with a hard shove, pushed it open.

  The wind roared in.

  Cold and wild and filled with a sound that wasn’t quite thunder—but almost a voice.

  And somewhere in that chaos, I thought I heard it—

  “Laika.”