The wind at the edge of Eldershollow carried no scent of salvation—only ash, blood, and the iron tang of something older than the bones beneath the earth. Magnus Varik stood motionless, one boot set upon a fractured stone that jutted over the gaping chasm now carved through the heart of the land like an ancient wound torn open anew. Beneath him, the earth trembled with a pulse not its own. Faint runes lined the chasm walls, etched into the rock as though clawed there by some forgotten god in torment—green light seeping from them like venom from a fang. Each pulse matched the beat of Magnus's cursed heart, the one bound in flesh and the one born of shadow. The presence of the place gripped him, not like a hand, but like jaws—tight, unyielding, and ready to drag him down into truths he could never unlearn.
The sky overhead was bruised with smoke, the last fires of the night dying slowly, illuminating the battered ramparts of Eldershollow with dying embers. The ravens circled high, more of them than before—dozens, perhaps hundreds, now forming chaotic spirals above the chasm. Their red eyes burned with unnatural clarity, like they bore witness to a prophecy unfolding, one wingbeat at a time. Each caw was a scream of warning or hunger—Magnus couldn't tell. His body ached from battle, his claws still stained with blood from the earlier clash against the remnants of the wolfspawn clan that had dared challenge his pack. But even that violence felt distant now, like a prelude. What lay below this chasm had waited long for someone like him, someone whose blood bore the signature of the First Howl. And now, it was calling.
Behind him, Jakob limped forward, his left arm wrapped tightly in cloth, crimson soaking through from a fresh bite. His spear trembled in his hand—not from weakness, but from the oppressive energy crawling out of the pit. "Something's wrong," Jakob said, voice rasping as if the air itself resisted breath. "Veyne's tracks end here, but they don't make sense. They're too long. She was fast, yes, but… this feels wrong. Like something else wore her skin and walked her path."
Magnus didn't respond immediately. He was staring at the symbols etched into the chasm's walls, watching them twist subtly as if they were alive. Each time his eyes tried to make sense of them, they shifted—no language he knew, yet every line pierced his thoughts with ancient intent. Jakob's words did strike something within him, though. Veyne was no coward. No traitor. But trust was a blade dulled by time and blood. Korr had once been loyal, too. Now his bones lay somewhere in the ice, broken by Magnus's own hands when betrayal reeked from his breath. If the chasm had taken Veyne, if the Citadel whispered to her through the void, then she too was lost.
A low growl rumbled in Magnus's throat, not quite his, not quite beast—something in between. The scar on his chest burned, lines etched in his flesh glowing faintly in resonance with the runes below. They were linked, the curse and the Citadel. That truth pressed into him like a blade against his ribs. He could no longer delay. Whatever hunted the edges of the woods, whatever made the ravens scream in mourning—it could wait. The chasm pulsed again, louder, deeper, a heartbeat that was not his. The earth demanded a descent. Destiny, or damnation, lay below.
"Hold the gate," Magnus said at last, his voice low, nearly drowned by the whirling wind. "No one enters. If Veyne returns, bind her. Alive, if you can. Dead, if she brings the Citadel with her."
Jakob opened his mouth to protest but stopped when Magnus turned. The alpha's eyes had shifted—amber bleeding into gold, the pupils narrowed to a predator's slit. There would be no argument. Only obedience. Jakob nodded grimly and stepped back, gripping his spear tighter, praying silently that he wouldn't have to test his friend's will against a fallen wolf.
Magnus stepped forward, the edge crumbling slightly beneath his boot. The ravens dove suddenly, a cyclone of black wings descending into the chasm's depths. Their cries grew more fevered, more manic. The runes flared. And Magnus leapt.
The air swallowed him whole.