The forest beyond the ruins was colder now, darker. As Raine led the group down the narrow mountain path, she couldn't shake the feeling that the world had shifted. The ember around her neck pulsed in sync with her heartbeat—faster, sharper, aware.
They were heading south now, toward the borderlands where the Hidden Wolves once lived. Long ago, they had broken away from the main bloodlines and scattered, refusing the Council's rule. If anyone could help them understand the ember and its prophecy, it was them.
But first, they had to find them.
"I still think this is a waste of time," Ezekiel muttered as he walked beside her. "If they didn't want to be found, they won't be."
"Maybe," Raine replied, "but my mother trusted them. That's enough for me."
Xavier trailed a step behind them, silent, eyes scanning the forest. He'd been distant since her mother's spirit had appeared—less protective, more watchful. She wondered if he was afraid of what she was becoming.
They camped that night in a grove of frost-covered pines. The moon was half-full and low, casting silver shadows over the snow.
Raine sat alone near the edge of the firelight, staring at the ember in her palm.
"You're changing," Xavier's voice came softly behind her.
She didn't turn. "I know."
He moved closer, crouching beside her. "It's not a bad thing. Just… fast. Too fast."
"You're afraid of me."
"I'm afraid for you," he said, eyes meeting hers. "You've barely begun to understand the ember, and already people are calling you a leader."
Raine took a shaky breath. "I didn't ask for this."
"No," he agreed. "But you're handling it better than most would."
She finally looked at him. "Even if it makes me someone else?"
"You'll always be Raine to me."
Their eyes locked. The moment hung there, heavy with unspoken things. Then a twig snapped in the trees.
Xavier was on his feet in an instant, blade drawn. The others stirred awake.
Shapes moved in the shadows. Then a voice spoke from the dark:
"You carry the flame."
A woman stepped forward. Her hair was woven with bone beads, her eyes wolf-bright. Around her, six others emerged, silent as mist, all bearing the same mark on their cloaks—a circle with a broken fang.
"We are the Forgotten," the woman said. "And we have been waiting for you."