†Noca's POV†
I was known, well known, by the servants. They had seen enough to know that my words regarding children were never lies. When I looked upon a child, I could see the shadow of their death. The manner, the weapon, the cause. Only the time had always escaped me.
The old servant gasped and stumbled toward her grandson, clutching him to her chest as though my words were a curse itself. Yet even she knew they were not curses. They were visions. Truths. She had served in the alpha's fortress long enough before to know that whatever I said about children always came to pass.
"Eryndor's name has been banned from mention," I began, my tone low but sharp, cutting through the trembling air. "Not in books, not in songs, not in the history of the North. No one dares speak it. So tell me, who was he? Why was he said to be cursed? And why did that curse spread through our lands like a plague?"
