For a heartbeat, there was no sound at all.
Not from the torches flickering behind them, not from the growls that had echoed through the dark. Just the thunder of Jonas's pulse in his ears, steady and sharp, like a war drum calling something ancient to wake.
They had descended deeper than he thought possible—far below the foundations of the Moonwell, into tunnels that twisted like ribs of a long-dead god. The walls were carved with faces: some human, some wolf, and some… something else. Something in-between.
The deeper they went, the colder it grew. Not the chill of wind or stone, but a deeper kind of cold—a memory kind. One that whispered along the skin, muttering stories through bloodlines and bones.
Jonas didn't ask where they were going. He didn't speak at all.
He was afraid of what his voice might sound like down here.
Afraid it wouldn't sound human.
Elena moved ahead without a lantern. She didn't need one. Her path was guided by glyphs along the wall that shimmered faintly in her presence. They lit when she passed, then dimmed behind her, like the tunnel itself was breathing with her steps.
"You were never meant to be raised in the outer city," she said, finally breaking the silence. "You were meant to be hidden in the North. Far from Malik's eyes. But something—someone—betrayed the plan."
Jonas looked at her, his voice hoarse. "You knew about me all this time?"
"I didn't know who you were. Not exactly. Just that one remained. The last Fang. The line that should've ended when Kaladorn slaughtered the Hollow Court."
She paused.
"We all thought the fire had gone out."
Jonas looked around them. "Then what's all this?"
Elena turned, her silver eyes catching the faint glow of the glyphs.
"This is what survived the fire."
They reached a cavern so wide Jonas could barely see the other side. A subterranean temple rose from the center like a sunken cathedral, suspended by stone bridges that looked too old to hold weight. The temple's walls were decorated with spiral patterns made of bones—thousands of them—inlaid with molten silver and traces of black crystal that pulsed when Jonas stepped closer.
"What is this place?" he asked, awestruck.
Elena didn't answer right away.
Then, solemnly, she said, "This is the Vault of Names."
She pressed her palm to a silver plate beside the door. Glyphs slid open like water parting. A soft hiss echoed as the stone groaned in protest.
Inside, the air was warmer but denser. Ancient tapestries hung from the high ceiling, each depicting a different phase of the moon. Wolves crowned in gold. Men on fire. Kings kneeling to beasts.
A massive circular chamber waited at the heart of the vault, where a statue stood taller than any Jonas had seen—a humanoid wolf with wings of fire and a blade piercing its chest.
He stepped toward it slowly.
"It looks like… It's dying."
"It is," Elena whispered. "That's Fen'kaar. The First Fang. The wolf who gave up his throne to save the bloodline from extinction."
Jonas couldn't take his eyes off it. The statue radiated power—and sorrow. He felt something stir inside his ribcage, like a whisper from a buried past.
"The kings erased him from history," Elena continued. "Said he was a demon. Said the Hollow were beasts. But Fen'kaar was no monster. He made a pact with the moon to protect us."
Jonas turned to her. "Protect us from what?"
Her gaze darkened.
"From what's still coming."
Above ground, in the black halls of the Citadel, Malik stood before a hollow brazier, watching flame turn to smoke.
The report in his hand was thin. A single page. But it was enough to change everything.
"The Moonwell is open," he muttered.
His steward bowed low. "Shall we alert the High Council?"
Malik crushed the parchment in his hand.
"No. They would delay. They still cling to peace like fools. I want a full legion mobilized by nightfall. Inform the Shadeborn and release the hounds."
"But… the treaty—"
"Burn the treaty," Malik spat. "The Hollow Blood will rise again. I intend to crush it before it remembers how to bleed."
Back beneath the earth, Jonas stood before a relic resting on a stone pedestal: a broken sword hilt wrapped in blackened vines. It pulsed faintly when he neared it.
"This… this belonged to my ancestors?"
Elena nodded. "It's called Whisperfang. It was forged in moonfire. It only responds to blood of the line."
He reached toward it.
And the moment his fingers touched it—
The world split.
Visions slammed into him like a flood.
He saw a battle raging in moonlight.
He saw a woman crowned in silver, screaming as fire devoured her pack.
He saw himself—older, wounded, kneeling on a mountain of ash with wolves dying around him.
And behind it all—a shadow. With Malik's eyes… but not Malik's soul.
Jonas staggered backward, panting.
"Prophecy," Elena whispered.
"I don't want this," he gasped. "I never wanted this."
"You don't get to want," she said softly. "You just get to choose what kind of legend you become."
Far behind them, a new sound echoed.
Boots on stone. Not many.
Just five.
But fast.
Sharp.
Trained.
Elena's face blanched. "Run."
"What?"
"They found us."
He looked toward the exit.
Too far.
The vault shook.
Above them, dust rained down from the carved ceiling as heavy footsteps approached.
Jonas grabbed the hilt of Whisperfang again, and this time, it didn't resist.
The blade ignited—not with fire, but with cold, blue flame.
A howl rose in his throat. One not entirely human.
And in that moment, his heartbeat no longer sounded like a boy's.
It sounded like war.
Behind them, the vault doors shattered inward.
Five figures emerged in silver masks—weapons drawn, eyes dead.
Shade Hounds.
One of them stepped forward and removed her hood.
She was young.
But her eyes were older than Malik's throne.
"There you are," she said.
Jonas raised the blade, but his hands shook.
The Shade Hound smiled.
"No need to fight," she said sweetly.
"
Why not?" Jonas growled.
She tilted her head.
"Because you're not ready…"
She snapped her fingers.
And the statue of Fen'kaar behind him opened its mouth—and roared to life.