Names were everything.
They were the thread that bound past and present, the essence of identity for every wolf. A name was more than a sound—it was a promise, a legacy, a spark of soul. It tethered one to family, to pack, to blood.
Without a name, a wolf could become lost—adrift in shadow, a ghost stripped of meaning.
But now, in the wake of Varyn's dark awakening, names began to slip away like smoke vanishing in a storm.
It started with small things.
A brother's name, once spoken easily at the fire, suddenly forgotten. A mate's scent, once sharp and clear, now a distant, empty breeze.
A wolf might open its mouth to speak, but words fractured and fell apart, swallowed by silence.
Some grasped at charms—rings forged of bone, a lock of fur, tokens heavy with memory—desperate anchors in a sea of fading selves.
Memory was no longer a refuge.
It was a battlefield.
And Varyn was winning.
Lyra stood at the edge of the Hollow Ring, her breath ragged, sweat slick on her forehead and neck.
The fourth ring on her skin burned hot beneath her fingertips—a pulse of fire and pain, a constant reminder of the bond she bore. But even that fierce power was not enough.
Not against him.
The Alpha Unbound knelt beside her, his hands buried deep in the soil, murmuring words older than the oldest trees, a chant that twisted the very air.
Kael's ears rang painfully at the sound, ancient syllables that made the hairs on his neck rise.
Cain stood watchful, his eyes sharp and unwavering. But even he faltered—his steady gaze clouded with confusion, a distant look in his eyes.
"Why can't I remember…" Cain's voice cracked. "Who taught me to fight?"
Lyra gripped his wrist, steadying him. "You trained with your brother beneath the cedar grove. You told me the story."
His breath caught, ragged and uncertain. "I did. Gods, I did."
She held his hand tighter. "We hold each other's truths now."
Far below the surface, where light was swallowed by endless stone, Varyn laughed.
But it was no joyful sound. No wolf's triumphant howl.
It was a hollow, chilling laugh that echoed through the blackest depths of the earth.
He did not walk. He did not run.
He drifted—a shadow carved from void and bone, dragging fractured bones across the cold stone floor.
Wolves who had begun to forget their names knelt in his path—not from loyalty, but from loss.
Loss so deep it bled away their very selves.
Varyn fed on that loss. It was the marrow of his power.
And when he whispered, the wind died.
"You remember your pain. I will take it."
"You remember your love. I will devour it."
"And when you remember nothing—then you are mine."
Inside the Hollow Ring, Kael stumbled and fell, collapsing to the cold earth.
Lyra's mind flickered, and for a brief, terrifying moment, his name—so precious and sacred—slipped away, as if stolen by shadows.
Her scream ripped through the night, raw and desperate.
The Alpha Unbound's eyes snapped open—twin moons igniting in the darkness.
"We must ignite memory," he said, voice fierce with ancient fire. "Burn it so brightly he cannot erase it."
"How?" Lyra cried. "We've already lost so much."
"Then make them remember what cannot be taken," he replied.
He placed a steady, burning hand over her chest.
The fourth ring flared—first white-hot, then molten silver.
Beneath her skin, a fifth ring shimmered to life—a pulse of pure light and power.
The Ring of the Unforgotten.
Lyra screamed—a sound of fire and sorrow and hope.
The flame blazed silver, then gold.
Names burst forth into the night air, written in fire and light, encircling the Hollow Ring like a crown of stars.
"Jorin."
"Elai."
"Mira."
"Korrin."
"Thalos."
"Vira."
Each name was a beacon.
Each name pulled a wolf back from the edge of oblivion.
Kael gasped, trembling as memories flooded back like a tidal wave.
"You pulled me back," he whispered, voice cracked but steady.
Lyra nodded, barely standing. "I won't let him have you. I won't let him have us."
Far to the south, Theron stood shrouded in shadow atop the jagged mountain ridges.
A name long buried clawed its way back into his mind.
His mother.
The woman he had abandoned.
The woman he had left to die to save himself.
For the first time in centuries, his iron heart shattered.
Silent tears fell, invisible in the biting wind.
Ghosts of the past whispered, and for once, he listened.
Varyn howled—a scream of hunger denied.
He surged forward like a storm, a tempest of bone and shadow, his form rippling toward the blazing Ring.
But the flames met him.
Seared through his void like a blade through silk.
For the first time, Varyn staggered.
His form flickered between nothingness and memory—pulled, torn between hunger and remembrance.
"What am I?" he snarled, voice raw and broken.
Lyra stepped forward, eyes burning with fierce truth.
"You are what we refused to forget."
Varyn collapsed to one knee, black smoke spiraling from his shoulders.
But his eyes burned brighter than ever.
And behind him—something older stirred.
Not a wolf.
Not a god.
A name.
So dangerous, so powerful, it had been sealed deep inside Varyn's fractured spine.
And now—
It remembered itself.
The Hollow Ring pulsed.
Memory burned.
The war for names was far from over.