The Sanctuary woke with the rising sun—and so did I.
But sleep had been thin. I'd twisted under wool blankets, haunted by flickers of fire and fangs, visions of wolves circling me in silence. When I opened my eyes, my pulse was still racing, and the mark on my wrist felt like it had been branded into my skin.
I dressed in borrowed clothes Kane left folded on the chair—black training pants and a tight long-sleeved top—and stepped out into the stone corridor with a spine full of nerves.
I had no idea what to expect.
The Sanctuary courtyard was already alive. Wolves—not fully shifted, but not fully human either—moved like shadows across the gravel, sparring, stretching, shifting mid-stride. The air pulsed with the electric hum of raw power.
Kane waited for me near the center, arms folded, stance like a coiled spring.
"You're late," he said without turning.
"I didn't realize I had a schedule."
He looked over his shoulder at me. "You do now."
He tossed me a wooden staff. I caught it clumsily and nearly dropped it.
"What am I supposed to do with this? Carve a walking stick?"
"You're going to learn to fight," he said. "Because no one else can carry the bloodline for you. And no one's going to save you if you fall."
I stared at him, heart pounding. "You think I can survive a war I didn't start?"
His eyes hardened. "I think you don't have a choice."
He stepped forward, grabbing the staff from my hands and spinning it in a clean arc. "The mark means your blood has awakened. That comes with instincts—but instincts need discipline. Without that, you're just prey with potential."
I clenched my jaw. "Then teach me."
He smiled faintly. Not cruel. Almost proud.
"Good," he said. "Again."
By midmorning, my arms were aching and my pride had taken a beating.
Kane didn't go easy on me. He moved fast—too fast—and every time I managed to land a blow, he countered with one of his own. He wasn't just testing my strength. He was measuring something else.
How far I would push before I broke.
And I didn't break.
I stumbled. I swore. I bled.
But I didn't stop.
After an hour, he called it. I collapsed on the grass, arms shaking, sweat soaking my collar.
"Better," he said, crouching beside me. "You're quicker than you think."
I gave a tired smirk. "You mean I'm not completely useless?"
"Not completely," he said. "But you're still holding back."
I looked at him, breath shallow. "Because I don't want to lose control."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded.
"Control is important," he said. "But fear is a leash. And you'll never survive with one around your neck."
Later that afternoon, Kane took me to a secluded part of the Sanctuary. A quiet glade surrounded by runes carved into ancient trees. A place of stillness.
"This is a grounding circle," he explained. "Every pack has one. The Moonveil used this land once. Your ancestors left their scent in the stone."
I stepped inside.
The moment I crossed the rune line, something shifted.
The air felt heavier, charged with memory. My skin prickled. My wolf stirred.
And suddenly I wasn't alone.
I felt them.
Not with my eyes, but in my bones—the weight of lineage, the echo of blood, the silent roar of those who came before me.
I dropped to my knees.
Kane didn't move. He watched me, jaw tight, eyes unreadable.
"You feel them," he said quietly.
"Yes," I whispered.
He knelt beside me. "The bloodline isn't just about power, Elara. It's a burden. It remembers. It demands."
I closed my eyes. The mark on my wrist burned.
"I didn't ask for any of this," I said.
"No," Kane replied. "But that doesn't mean it isn't yours."
That night, I dreamed of fire again.
But this time, the wolves didn't circle me.
They stood behind me.
And when I turned to face the flame, I was the one baring my teeth.