The wind hit like a wall.

  Not just air—but sound, pressure, presence. It howled around us the moment we stepped through the threshold, stealing the warmth from our skin and the breath from our lungs.

  Apolloh moved ahead of me first, shielding me as best he could, his hand tight around mine. I followed close, the thick outer cloak I’d grabbed barely enough to keep the cold from sinking through.

  The courtyard was empty—deserted in a way that felt unnatural. No sentries, no flickering torches. Just the storm, curling like smoke across the stone.

  But this wasn’t just weather.

  It watched.

  Every instinct in me screamed that it wasn’t the wind alone that pressed against us, but something inside it. A will. A shape I couldn’t yet see.

  We reached the center of the yard. Apolloh stopped, his head tilted toward the blackened sky.

  “This isn’t right,” he said, his voice nearly lost to the wind.

  “No,” I agreed. “It’s not.”

  Then—movement.

  A flicker through the mist ahead of us. Not large. But fast. Almost human-shaped—except it didn’t move like one.

  I reached instinctively for the dagger at my hip, even though I wasn’t sure it would matter.

  Apolloh stepped slightly in front of me again, his body tense, shifting—not quite transforming, but ready.

  Then—

  “Laika.”

  The wind didn’t just whisper this time.

  It spoke.

  A single word, sharp and clear and aimed.

  And this time, Apolloh heard it too.

  His eyes shot to mine. “That wasn’t—”

  “Your imagination,” I finished. My heart hammered in my chest. “No. It wasn’t.”

  The wind swirled again—this time stronger, pushing us back a step.

  Then, from the edge of the courtyard—

  A figure.

  No features. No face.

  But familiar in a way that made my spine go rigid.

  It didn’t move closer. Just stood there.

  Waiting.

  Calling.

  The storm roared louder around it, tearing at the edges of its shape—but the figure didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  Because somehow, in the deepest part of me, I recognized it.

  Not as a person. Not as a memory.

  But as something that had always been there. Watching. Circling.

  Like a shadow in my bones.

  Apolloh took a step forward, but then froze.

  “What the fuck is that?” he said, voice low and rough.

  It wasn’t fear.

  It was worse.

  Recognition—without understanding. Like his instincts had caught up before his mind could.

  I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

  Because if I said it out loud… I was afraid I’d know.

  The figure twitched.

  Not like a person.

  More like a glitch in the world itself—staggered, jerky, wrong. One second it was standing straight, the next… its head tilted sharply, too far, too fast. As if bones didn’t matter.

  I grabbed Apolloh’s arm without realizing it.

  Then—

  “Key,” it said.

  The voice didn’t come from it.

  It came from everywhere.

  Inside the wind. Beneath the stone.

  In my chest.

  “You are the key.”

  And then it was gone.

  Not like it ran.

  Not like it faded.

  Just—gone.

  As if it had never been there at all.

  The storm dropped suddenly, like a great inhale had finally been exhaled.

  Silence slammed into us.

  Only the sound of our breathing remained.

  I looked at Apolloh.

  He looked at me.

  Neither of us said a word.

  The storm dropped suddenly, like a great inhale had finally been exhaled.

  Silence slammed into us.

  Only the sound of our breathing remained.

  I looked at Apolloh.

  He looked at me.

  Then, quieter this time—rough, breathless, shaken—

  “What the fuck was that?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Because I didn’t know.

  But deep in my chest, something had begun to stir.

  Not fear. Not yet.

  Something worse.

  Recognition.

  I stood there for a long time, listening to the quiet like it might shatter under my breath.

  The wind was still, but the cold remained—clinging to my skin like it had marked me.

  Apolloh hadn’t moved.

  Neither had I.

  We were standing in the same place, and yet it felt like we’d crossed a line no one had warned us about.

  It had known my name.

  It had called me.

  And then it had disappeared like the world was its playground.

  A storm like this didn’t belong to nature.

  It belonged to something else.

  I turned my hand over slowly, palm up.

  The skin there buzzed faintly—like it remembered the voice even if my mind wanted to forget.

  Apolloh finally exhaled beside me.

  “You okay?” he asked, quiet but rough, like he already knew the answer.

  I nodded.

  Then, after a breath, “No.”

  Neither of us pretended to be brave.

  ~~~

  The heavy doors slammed open with a crack that echoed like thunder.

  Apolloh stormed into the chamber without hesitation, voice laced with fury and fire.

  “What in the fucking hell was that?!”

  Chairs scraped across stone as startled Elders rose. Some looked confused. Others looked guilty. None looked surprised enough.

  I followed behind him, hands clenched, pulse still racing. The storm had passed, but it was inside me now. Coiled and waiting. That figure hadn’t just come for us.

  It had come for me.

  Apolloh’s voice rang out again, sharp and cutting. “Don’t you dare pretend you don’t know. You’ve seen it before. Haven’t you?”

  For a moment, no one spoke.

  Then Thalos scoffed from his place near the far end of the table, standing slowly with a shake of his head.

  “This is what happens when outsiders are left to wander unchecked,” he muttered, tone scathing. “Storms come and go. Shadows play tricks. You should’ve—”

  “Enough.”

  The single word silenced the entire room.

  Adrastea rose.

  She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t have to. Her presence filled the space like thunder behind glass.

  Her gaze flicked to Thalos first.

  “If you speak again before I’m finished,” she said coldly, “you will leave this room.”

  Thalos stiffened, his mouth opening, then closing again.

  Then she turned to us—her gaze heavy on mine.

  “I had hoped,” she said, quieter now, “that we would have more time. That you would be allowed to ease into the truth.”

  Her expression softened just barely as she added, “But the storm has chosen otherwise.”

  Her gaze didn’t leave mine.

  “The storm isn’t just a force of nature,” Adrastea said. “It never was.”

  The room held its breath.

  She stepped slowly around the table, her robes trailing like shadows behind her. “Long before your arrival, before even some of us had taken our places at this table, there were whispers in the wind. Of a presence that comes with the storms. A will. A hunger.”

  I felt my stomach twist.

  Apolloh’s voice was lower now, but no less sharp. “What does it want?”

  Adrastea looked at me again. This time, her eyes weren’t cold. They were… tired. Almost sad.

  “You,” she said simply.

  A cold weight settled in my chest.

  “It has always searched,” she continued, “but only recently has it started calling. We’ve sensed it for months now—an energy building at the edge of our lands, testing the boundaries. We feared it was waiting for something.”

  She paused.

  Then: “We now believe it was waiting for you.”

  ——

  “We now believe it was waiting for you.”

  The words didn’t feel real.

  Didn’t feel possible.

  But in my chest, something turned over. Like a clockwork mechanism that had been waiting too long to move.

  Adrastea stepped forward again, slow, deliberate.

  “We thought you might carry a spark,” she said. “A thread of something older—dormant, perhaps. But when the children came, and the storm’s patterns changed, it became clear.”

  She glanced at Apolloh, then back at me.

  “You didn’t just cross into our world, Laika.

  Something ancient crossed with you.”

  That was when Caelen moved. His chair scraped back roughly as he rose, hands flat on the table, eyes wide with disbelief.

  “Are you hearing yourselves?” he snapped. “You’re talking like she’s some kind of vessel. Like this was fated. You knew—you all knew—and you said nothing?”

  Zia stood beside him, arms folded tight, jaw clenched.

  “She is part of this pack,” she said, voice low but lethal. “You don’t get to speak about her like she’s a prophecy walking.”

  Her eyes locked on Thalos—who wisely didn’t say a word this time.

  Then she looked at me.

  “And you don’t have to carry this alone.”

  The silence was thick.

  Not awkward.

  Not expectant.

  Just heavy.

  Like the air itself knew that something had changed.

  I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. My breath sat shallow in my chest as I stared at the space just in front of me, like if I looked hard enough, I’d see that figure again—waiting in the dark.

  You didn’t just cross into our world, Laika.

  Something ancient crossed with you.

  The words echoed.

  Again. And again.

  And again.

  And when I finally did speak, my voice surprised even me.

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  “Then tell me what it is.”

  It wasn’t a question. Not really.

  It was a demand wrapped in exhaustion. A whisper laced with fire.

  I looked up at Adrastea.

  “You said it was waiting for me. That it wants me. Fine. Then stop speaking in riddles and tell me why.”

  My voice shook—but not from fear.

  From the weight of everything I still didn’t know.

  Adrastea’s gaze didn’t falter.

  She didn’t flinch.

  But when she spoke again, her voice was softer. Not hesitant—but reverent. Like saying the name alone was an act of consequence.

  “It is called Nyxaroth.”

  The room shifted. Subtle—but unmistakable. Like the stone itself recoiled.

  “An old name,” she continued. “Older than the histories we teach. Older than the cities that rose and fell before us. It was a presence that once walked through storms and ruin, feeding off fear, off loss. A force that was never meant to return.”

  Apolloh took a slow step forward, the tension in his shoulders tight enough to snap.

  “You said it was gone.”

  Adrastea nodded. “It was sealed. Banished. Bound beyond the veil by those who came before us. But things that old don’t die easily. They wait. They rot. And sometimes… something happens that weakens the lock.”

  She turned to me again.

  “You weren’t the cause, Laika. But you were the catalyst. And now, it has seen you. Marked you.”

  A cold breath slipped through my lips.

  “Why me?” I asked.

  Adrastea was quiet for a long moment.

  Then she said the words that made the blood in my veins freeze:

  “Because you are the key to letting it out—

  or to locking it away forever.”

  Adrastea didn’t speak at first.

  Not until the silence returned and wrapped itself tight around the room again.

  Then, softly:

  “It wasn’t always called Nyxaroth.”

  A chill crept down my spine.

  “Long before the name became fear… it was a shifter. One of the first. A wolf with power unlike any we’ve seen since. They say it sought to tame the storms—not as we do, with reverence, but with dominion. To command death. To twist life. To speak with the void between.”

  Her fingers grazed the edge of the stone table, like she was touching memory itself.

  “But the void is not something to be spoken to.

  It speaks back.”

  Apolloh’s hand brushed mine beneath the table. Not to calm me—he was grounding himself.

  Adrastea’s gaze lifted to me once more.

  “What returned from that communion was no longer kin. Its body remained, but its soul—if it had one—had been hollowed. Filled with something older. Something wrong.”

  She stepped closer.

  “That is what Nyxaroth is. Not just a creature. Not just a curse. It is the fusion of hunger and memory. The echo of a wolf who tried to become a god—

  and the thing that answered.”

  My heart thundered in my chest.

  Zia’s voice, uncharacteristically quiet, cut through it all.

  “And Laika… reminds it of what it used to be.”

  Adrastea nodded, solemn.

  “She is not the reason it wakes.

  But she is the first thing it has recognized in centuries.”

  Zia’s voice broke the silence. It wasn’t quite defiant—just desperate, like she needed a reality check of her own.

  “This sounds like madness. You’re saying she’s the key to something this ancient? This… this monster?” She shook her head, glancing at the others. “No offense, but none of this makes sense.”

  Adrastea didn’t react. She just stood there, her gaze as steady as the walls themselves.

  “It was madness. To believe it could ever be contained. To think the storms could be controlled.”

  Zia’s fists tightened at her sides. “This is—” She paused, then lowered her voice. “This is too much.”

  Caelen, ever the skeptic, pushed his chair back with a sharp scrape. “You’re telling me that she—Laika—could end up unlocking something that—”

  “I didn’t say that,” Adrastea cut him off, her voice still quiet but utterly final. “I said she is the key. Not the cause. It is waiting for her. And it knows she is the one who may either end it or let it loose.”

  The air shifted, thickening around the words as they settled into the room. Caelen’s face paled slightly, but he didn’t argue. Zia stood rigid, arms crossed tightly as though holding herself in place.

  Apolloh shifted beside me, leaning in just enough to murmur, “What does this mean for the children?”

  Adrastea turned to him, her eyes narrowing slightly.

  “The children? The storm’s interest in them is secondary. They’re part of what Laika represents—the promise of what Nyxaroth could do, or undo. But they’re still children.”

  I swallowed, the words weighing more than anything I’d heard today.

  “They’ll grow with her. And if Nyxaroth wakes fully… it will see them all.”

  ——

  It started before we’d even cleared the steps of the council room.

  Not with thunder.

  But with silence.

  The kind that presses into your ears until your own breath sounds too loud. No wind. No rustle of leaves. No footsteps, no guards changing post, no children laughing in the distance.

  Just the hum of something waiting.

  And then—I felt it.

  A low, bone-deep groan beneath my feet. The ground shifted just enough to make my balance catch. The air turned heavy, thick like fog soaked in oil. I couldn’t breathe right.

  I looked up.

  Clouds churned above us—black, grey, and sickly green. They weren’t moving like they should. They were boiling. Spiraling down toward us like the sky itself was being sucked dry.

  Adrastea stood in the doorway behind us, still as a statue. Watching.

  Then—

  “Apolloh.” I reached for his arm without meaning to. “Something’s wrong.”

  He was already turning, already in motion. His hand found mine, squeezed once, and then he was shouting.

  “Get the young inside! Now!”

  “Kira—take the the children to the inner halls!”

  “Zia, Caelen—lock down the gates, reinforce them!”

  The pack was moving, scrambling, half-panicked but trained. They listened to Apolloh. He gave them direction, gave them something to focus on.

  But I stood there, frozen.

  Because the storm wasn’t just coming—it was reacting.

  To me.

  I took a step to the right, toward the path that led to the training fields.

  The wind followed.

  Just the faintest brush of movement, like it was… watching. Tracking.

  I felt my stomach turn.

  It wasn’t a storm.

  It was a summoning.

  Something was being pulled into our world—called by the void that had once taken a wolf and spit out something far worse. Nyxaroth wasn’t just reaching through.

  It was on its way in.

  ——

  I couldn’t move.

  Not really. Not fast enough. Not in the way I should have.

  People were shouting. Doors were slamming. Kira’s voice echoed distantly, firm and focused as she herded the children to safety. I heard Apolloh yelling orders, his voice rising above the wind like a lifeline.

  But all I could do was stand there, staring into that sky that wasn’t really a sky anymore.

  The clouds didn’t just churn—they watched. I could feel it.

  A hollow hunger behind them.

  A weight pressing down on my chest, like something ancient and wrong had latched onto me.

  The storm knows you.

  Elias’ voice from earlier whispered in my head, soft and innocent, but now it felt like a prophecy.

  The storm knew me.

  Because I was the one that called it. Or maybe I didn’t—but I was the one it was waiting for.

  What if this was all because of me?

  What if every lightning strike, every tremor, every flicker of shadow that didn’t move quite right in the corners of the room—what if that was all because I existed?

  You are the key.

  What did that even mean?

  What kind of key unlocked something like this?

  And what would it mean for my children…?

  For Elias, Kailaa…

  For the four.

  My knees felt weak. The world tilted slightly on its axis, not enough to make me fall, but enough to make me feel like gravity itself was giving up on me.

  What if I broke?

  What if I couldn’t carry this?

  What if Nyxaroth came, and I looked it in the face—and it knew me better than I knew myself?

  ?

  “Laika!”

  A voice—Apolloh’s—pierced the fog in my head, sharp and grounding.

  I blinked.

  He was beside me again, eyes burning, hands firm on my shoulders.

  “You with me?” he asked.

  I swallowed. Nodded. It was a lie. But I couldn’t fall apart. Not now.

  “Good,” he said, already scanning the courtyard. “Because we’ve got shit to do.”

  I forced my breath to steady.

  One. Two. Three.

  Apolloh’s hands dropped from my shoulders the moment he saw me breathe like myself again.

  “Stay close,” he said. “We need to get to the east perimeter—something’s pushing through.”

  He didn’t have to say more.

  The air had shifted again. The wind was howling now, tearing across the open spaces of the fortress like it was searching for something. It clawed at my skin, pulling toward me like static before a lightning strike.

  We moved quickly, weaving through panicked packmates. I caught a glimpse of Caelen and Zia at opposite ends of the courtyard, weapons drawn, shouting to coordinate the defenses.

  But my thoughts flicked toward the room—our room.

  The nursery. The four.

  Kira was with them. I knew she would’ve sealed the door, planted herself like a wall between them and the world. She was calm when others panicked. A blade that never wavered.

  Still, my chest ached with the need to go to them. To see for myself they were okay.

  But I couldn’t.

  Because something else was calling to me.

  ?

  We turned the last corner toward the eastern gate—and stopped cold.

  A crack tore through the air like the world itself had split open.

  The stone wall near the outer edge shattered, as if struck by something massive and unseen. Dust exploded outward, knocking a few warriors to the ground. Screams echoed. Someone called for help—then another crash, this time deeper. Inside.

  “What in the fucking hell was that?!” Apolloh shouted, spinning around.

  But I already knew.

  My body pulled forward before my mind caught up. There was something near—inside the fortress walls now. I couldn’t explain how I knew. I just did.

  A shape moved through the stormclouds above—not fully formed. Shadowy. Flickering. Humanoid, maybe. Or something pretending to be.

  It twisted and vanished again. But I felt its eyes on me.

  No.

  Not eyes.

  Its will.

  “Laika!” someone called—maybe Zia—but my feet were already moving.

  Then the wind shifted again, so violently it knocked me sideways. Apolloh caught my arm, kept me upright, but just as I looked up—

  —a second wall exploded.

  Stone. Splinters. Flame.

  People screamed again, some running, some frozen.

  And I felt it.

  A sharp, burning coil in my chest, deep under my ribs. A heat I didn’t understand. Something ancient. Something not mine—but not entirely foreign either.

  My hands trembled. Not with fear. With energy.

  With something waking up.

  ——

  The power twisted in my chest—hot, aching, alive. But it wasn’t just mine.

  Veyris stirred.

  Not like she did when I shifted.

  Not like the gentle push of instincts in the back of my mind.

  No—this was something else.

  It started as a shiver beneath my skin, then spread like wildfire. I felt her teeth in my mouth. Her snarl behind my breath. My fingernails stung—my bones flexed—as if my body couldn’t decide whether to hold its shape or become something else entirely.

  A pulse echoed behind my eyes. My vision sharpened. Every movement, every flicker of motion across the courtyard, lit up like fireflies in the dark.

  My lips parted—and I tasted ozone.

  A growl crawled up my throat. Not mine.

  Ours.

  The storm felt it.

  That shadowy shape hovering above the broken wall flickered—glitched, almost—like it recoiled. I didn’t know what it was, but it knew something had changed.

  It looked at me like it recognized me.

  Not Laika.

  Veyris.

  My heart slammed in my chest.

  Apolloh moved in beside me, tense and ready to fight, but he stopped cold when he looked at me.

  “Laika…” he breathed.

  I turned to him—and something in his expression faltered. Not fear. Not confusion.

  It was awe.

  And just the barest flicker of something else.

  I realized my eyes were glowing.

  Not the gold of my wolf.

  Something deeper.

  Brighter.

  The same color as the lightning lashing across the sky.

  Because if Veyris is rising—how could Apolloh’s wolf not feel that?

  Their bond has always run deep, and now something primal, sacred, and terrifying is stirring in Laika. The kind of thing that speaks not just to instincts, but to the soul of the wolf within him.

  So let’s let Apolloh react—not with fear, but with that raw, visceral awareness. Let his wolf surge forward beneath his skin, not to challenge her… but to answer her. To recognize Veyris. To stand beside her, even in the face of a storm that wants to swallow the world.

  ?

  “Laika…” Apolloh’s voice had dropped low, rough. Like his wolf was already rising.

  I turned toward him—and in that moment, the air between us crackled. The wind howled, but it felt distant now, like we stood in a place just outside the storm.

  His eyes flicked—gold bleeding into his gaze.

  He was trying to hold it back.

  But his wolf knew her.

  Veyris.

  I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The pressure in my chest was too much—my bones humming with energy, with something that wasn’t just mine. The air around me shimmered, heat curling up my arms like smoke.

  Apolloh took a slow step toward me.

  His breath caught. “Your eyes…”

  “I know,” I whispered. My voice sounded distant. Warped. Like Veyris was speaking with me.

  Not over me.

  Beside me.

  “Do you feel it?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer right away.

  Then he nodded once—jaw tight, eyes never leaving mine. “My wolf does.”

  The wind screamed across the broken stone. That shadow in the sky coiled tighter, flickering like it was made of smoke and void.

  I looked up at it, and for the first time… it hesitated.

  Apolloh stepped beside me.

  His hand brushed the back of mine—not to stop me, but to steady me. A quiet reminder that I wasn’t alone. That no matter what this power was becoming, he was still here.

  Still with me.

  Whatever was coming—I wouldn’t face it as just Laika.

  Not anymore.

  The clouds above churned like a living thing. Dark tendrils licked through the sky, folding around that flickering shape—until it vanished completely.

  For a breath, the world was silent.

  Then something hit the earth.

  The courtyard shook—a tremor deep and violent. Cracks split through the stone underfoot. Warriors stumbled. Someone screamed.

  A low, inhuman snarl echoed from somewhere in the fortress.

  But it wasn’t coming from above.

  It was coming from inside.

  Apolloh’s head snapped toward the northern wing.

  “No…” he muttered. “No, no, no—”

  I felt it too.

  Something had gotten in.

  Before anyone could speak, Zia’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade:

  “Shields up! Push west! It’s inside the walls!”

  I turned toward Apolloh. The gold in his eyes burned brighter now.

  “I have to go to them,” I said.

  His voice was hoarse. “Then let’s move.”

  And we ran.

  Not away from the storm.

  Straight into it.

  ——

  We tore through the corridors—stone blurring beneath our feet, the scent of lightning still clinging to my skin.

  But it wasn’t the storm I was chasing now.

  It was something worse.

  I felt it like a hook in my chest, dragging me toward the nursery.

  Toward them.

  Apolloh didn’t speak—he didn’t have to. His breathing was ragged, his fists clenched so tight they shook. Every hallway we passed, every packmate yelling orders or bracing for another quake, blurred into background noise.

  Because we both knew where the real threat was headed.

  We reached the door to our room.

  And I froze.

  It was open. Just slightly. A crack of shadow slicing through the warmth of what had once been a sanctuary.

  No sound inside.

  No cries.

  No breath.

  Apolloh was in front of me in an instant, hand pushing the door wider—

  —and then we saw her.

  Kira stood in front of the nursery alcove, body rigid, eyes wild. Her arms were outstretched as if physically holding something back. Something we couldn’t see.

  The four were behind her—silent, alert, their small forms somehow still amidst the chaos.

  But it was the air that caught me.

  Heavy.

  Thick with pressure that didn’t belong in this world.

  “Kira,” I breathed. “What is it?”

  She didn’t look at me. Couldn’t.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “But it wants them.”

  I stepped in slowly, eyes sweeping the room, instincts clawing just beneath my skin.

  Kira didn’t move. Her arms were still out, one hand trembling faintly as if she were bracing against invisible wind.

  But there was no wind.

  Just pressure. Like the room itself was holding its breath.

  The four were silent behind her, their eyes wide and locked on the space just beyond where Kira stood—as if they saw something I couldn’t.

  Apolloh growled low under his breath, stepping up beside me. “Where is it?”

  “I don’t know,” Kira whispered again. Her voice had an edge now. “But it’s here.”

  Then I felt it.

  Not on my skin—but in my soul.

  Like something slithering through the dark of my mind, testing the cracks. The moment it brushed up against me, Veyris rose like wildfire through my blood, a protective snarl ripping free from my chest without warning.

  A low, almost imperceptible chime echoed through the room.

  Not a sound made by any physical thing.

  But it made the four flinch.

  The bassinet creaked faintly.

  And then—for a flicker of a heartbeat—I saw it.

  Just at the edge of the nursery, where the shadows gathered deepest.

  A shape.

  Twisted. Lean. Not quite human.

  Its eyes—if that’s what they were—were like cracks in reality, glowing dimly like dying stars. Its face didn’t exist. Just smoke, stretching where a mouth should’ve been.

  A whisper, not a voice, curled into my mind.

  “She stirs. She returns. You were meant for us.”

  I staggered back a step, hand braced against the wall as Veyris snapped inside me—protective, furious, wild. My fingertips burned. The storm outside screamed.

  Apolloh snarled outright and lunged forward, placing himself between me and the thing, but it didn’t move.

  It just watched.

  Watched me.

  Kira’s voice trembled now. “Laika. What is that?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Because I didn’t know.

  But it knew me.

  And when it vanished, not in a blink but like smoke fading from fire, the nursery went silent again.

  The pressure dropped.

  The breath I’d been holding collapsed out of me.

  But I wasn’t calm.

  Not even close.

  I turned to look at the four. They were still staring at the same spot, where the shape had stood, their small eyes wide and unblinking.

  Elara’s lips parted.

  And though she couldn’t speak—

  She smiled.

  ——

  I couldn’t look away from her.

  Elara.

  Small. Quiet. Wrapped in soft linen and shadow, her tiny hand curled over the edge of the bassinet.

  But her lips were curved into something that wasn’t joy.

  Wasn’t fear either.

  It was something else.

  Something older.

  It wasn’t a grin. It wasn’t a reflex.

  It was recognition.

  I stepped forward before I realized it—drawn by that impossibly calm expression on her tiny face.

  “Elara, baby…” I whispered, kneeling beside the bassinet. “What… what do you see?”

  She blinked slowly. Her smile didn’t fade. Her eyes—silver-gray and far too knowing—locked with mine.

  And then, so faintly I thought I imagined it, her fingers lifted.

  Pointed.

  To the place where the creature had stood.

  My blood ran cold.

  “Did it speak to you?” I asked.

  No answer, of course. She couldn’t speak. Could barely even understand the words.

  But deep in my chest, something twisted.

  Not in pain. Not in fear.

  In recognition.

  Like something in me answered that smile.

  Like part of me understood why she smiled.

  Not because she welcomed that thing.

  But because she knew it was watching me.

  And she wasn’t afraid.

  Because somehow… she trusted me to face it.

  Trusted the thing inside me.

  Veyris.

  The storm.

  “Elara,” I whispered again, my voice breaking. “What are you?”

  But she only closed her eyes.

  And smiled.

  Apolloh’s hand touched my shoulder. “Laika…”

  I didn’t turn.

  “I saw her smile,” I said quietly. “You saw it too, right?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Didn’t need to.

  I heard the sharp breath he pulled in behind me.

  “I don’t think it was for the creature,” Kira said, voice low and tight. “I think… it was for you.”

  That made me look up.

  Kira’s face was pale. Her arms were still shaking, though they’d lowered now. Her eyes flicked between the four, settling on Elara.

  “I’ve watched over them every day. I’ve soothed them through storms, fed them, bathed them, held them through their fevers and fussing.” She swallowed hard. “But that smile… I’ve never seen her look at anyone like that.”

  There was silence again.

  Only this time, it wasn’t heavy.

  It was charged.

  A warning.

  A heartbeat away from breaking.

  I stood slowly, my voice firm despite the thunder still humming under my skin.

  “I want answers.”

  Apolloh nodded once, jaw tight. “We deserve them.”

  We didn’t speak again as we walked through the halls.

  But the echoes followed us. The image of that creature. The feeling in my bones. The storm in the distance.

  And Elara’s smile.

  ?

  The council chamber was still half-lit when we arrived. A few Elders had gathered in tight murmuring circles, speaking in hushed, rapid tones.

  They turned when they saw us.

  And when Apolloh slammed the door shut behind us, all conversation stopped.

  I stepped forward. My voice didn’t shake.

  “You knew something like this might happen.”

  Adrastea, seated near the far end of the room, raised her head.

  Her eyes locked on mine.

  “We did,” she said.

  “And you didn’t tell us.”

  “No.”

  The air in the chamber grew tense, sharp with bristling tempers.

  Thalos shifted beside her. “Because there was nothing to tell. Nothing certain. Nothing proven—”

  “Then tell us what you feared,” Apolloh snapped. “Tell us what the hell that thing was.”

  Adrastea’s gaze didn’t waver.

  “Nyxaroth,” she said softly. “A name so old even the stone has forgotten how to speak it. A remnant of before. A thing that was never born, only unleashed.”

  She stood slowly.

  “It speaks in riddles, because truth burns. And it’s not hunting the children.”

  Her eyes slid to me.

  “It’s hunting you.”