The bloodstained cloth trembled in Riven's outstretched hand. Aria stared at it, her heart pounding like a war drum. A single wolf fang, still slick with blood, was wrapped in the crimson cloth. The air around it seemed colder, heavier, as if even the walls were recoiling from the sinister energy it carried.
Kael took it carefully between his fingers. His eyes shimmered gold, a low growl rising in his chest. "Rogues don't leave messages. This… this is something else."
"Someone wants you to know they were there," Aria said, her voice barely a whisper. "And that they can come and go as they please."
Riven nodded grimly. "Every guard was dead. Torn open like they were nothing. There was no scent trail, no physical evidence. Just... this." He pointed to the fang.
Kael's brows furrowed. "I've seen something like this before."
He turned abruptly, pacing the length of the chamber like a caged beast. "When I was seventeen, I traveled to the Outlands. My father took me to visit the old seers. They warned of a time when an Alpha would bind with a Luna powerful enough to awaken the Old Ones—creatures made from darkness and blood magic. Shadow-born."
Aria's blood ran cold. "You said that word earlier. What exactly are they?"
"Wolves once," Kael said. "But twisted. Cursed. They live between worlds—never fully spirit, never fully flesh. They move like shadows, strike like phantoms, and feed on magic. Our magic."
Aria wrapped her arms around herself. "Why come for the Council now?"
Kael's gaze dropped to the fang. "Because something has changed. Something they were waiting for… has happened."
He didn't say it, but they all felt it: it had something to do with Aria.
She looked between the two men. "What do we do?"
Kael lifted his head, resolve hardening in his face. "We go to the High Archives. There may be answers there."
Without another word, Kael led them down a narrow corridor lit by torches. The deeper they descended, the more the air changed—growing cooler, sharper, tinged with an otherworldly energy.
The stairs seemed to stretch on forever until they reached an ancient door carved from black stone. Etchings shimmered faintly across its surface—wolves howling, moons rising and falling, battles long forgotten. In the center, a large rune pulsed gently with golden light.
Kael placed his hand on the rune. The stone trembled beneath his palm, then slowly parted with a heavy rumble, revealing a chamber unlike any Aria had ever seen.
The High Archives.
It looked like a cathedral of knowledge. Scrolls and tomes lined walls that stretched to a domed ceiling. Strange vials glowed on floating shelves, their contents pulsing with faint light. In the center of the chamber stood a massive obsidian pedestal. Upon it rested a single book, bound in dark leather.
Kael strode to a side wall and began scanning the shelves. Riven moved to another section, fingers trailing over scrolls older than most cities. Aria was drawn to the central book.
The moment she touched it, the room seemed to shift. Whispers curled around her ears—fragments of languages long dead. She opened the tome, its pages stiff but warm to the touch.
Then she saw it.
A sketch of a fang, identical to the one left at the crime scene. Below it was a symbol she didn't recognize: a crescent moon stabbed through by a dagger.
"Kael," she called.
He was beside her in seconds, his eyes narrowing at the page. "That's the mark of the Blood Pact. An ancient sect that once tried to overthrow the High Packs. They were destroyed during the Shadow Wars."
"Clearly not all of them," Riven said, walking over with a scroll in hand.
He unrolled it, revealing the same symbol Aria had seen. Underneath it was a phrase written in Lupin script. Kael translated it aloud.
"Blood to unbind. Flesh to command."
Aria shivered. "That sounds like a summoning ritual."
Kael's jaw clenched. "It is. Shadow-born can't enter our realm on their own. They have to be summoned… or awakened."
He looked at Aria then, and she saw it in his eyes—the guilt, the fear, the connection.
"It's me," she said, her voice hollow.
"Not by fault," Kael replied. "By fate."
She stepped back, the words crashing into her like a wave. "You said our bond did something—something ancient."
Kael nodded. "No Luna has completed a true soul-bonding ritual in centuries. You didn't just bond with me, Aria. You awakened a bloodline. You're not just my mate—you're a key."
Aria turned away, her chest tight. "So I'm a target now."
"More than that," Riven said. "You're the weapon. Or the prize."
Kael approached her slowly, his presence grounding. "You're not alone. You have me. The pack. We'll protect you."
"But I don't want to be protected," she said sharply. "I want to fight. I want to understand what's inside me… what's been awakened."
Kael smiled, just a little. "You never stop surprising me."
His hand reached out, brushing her cheek. The spark between them ignited instantly. The bond pulsed, hot and overwhelming, dragging them toward each other like magnets.
He pulled her into a kiss that was all heat and need, mouths crashing together as if trying to forget the danger waiting outside the chamber walls. She fisted his shirt, pulling him closer, melting into the safety of him.
But the moment was short-lived.
A cold gust of air slammed through the chamber, extinguishing the candles. The tome snapped shut on its own.
A voice—female, ancient, and cruel—whispered from the darkness:
> "The key is awake. The gate shall open."
Kael whirled, teeth bared. "Who's there?!"
No answer.
Just silence.
Then the candles relit on their own. The air calmed.
Aria's knees buckled slightly. Kael caught her before she fell.
"She spoke to me," Aria said shakily. "In my head. She said… I belong to her."
Kael lifted her into his arms again, ignoring her weak protests. "We're leaving. Now."
---
They returned to Kael's private chamber. He insisted she rest, though her body trembled with unease. He lay beside her, his warmth anchoring her, but her thoughts refused to quiet.
When sleep finally came, it was broken.
A sound stirred her.
Soft. Rhythmic.
Footsteps.
She blinked awake. Kael was still beside her, his breath slow and steady.
But the balcony doors…
They were open.
Wind whispered through them, stirring the curtains. The moonlight had shifted, casting a pale path across the cold stone floor.
She rose silently and crossed to the balcony.
And then—she saw him.
A figure stood below in the courtyard. Cloaked. Still as a statue. The scent of decay floated on the breeze.
He raised his hand slowly and pointed directly at her.
A breath later—he vanished.