The rain had not stopped for three days.
It fell in relentless sheets, drumming against the charred earth, washing away the blood and the remnants of divine ash. The forest tried to breathe again, but the air remained heavy — as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for what came next.
Aria walked ahead of the pack, the hood of her cloak drawn low. The path before her was narrow, swallowed by fog that clung to the trees like ghosts. Every step echoed with whispers only she could hear — fragments of divine murmurs, fractured, broken, but still alive inside her mind.
Daughter of the Rift.
The title haunted her like a second heartbeat.
Damian followed close behind, his presence silent but fierce. He hadn't questioned her since the night she told him they needed to leave the ruins. He didn't need to. He understood the look in her eyes — that mixture of resolve and something dangerously close to prophecy.
They weren't running anymore.
They were hunting.
---
By nightfall, they reached the ridge overlooking the valley of Myrr. The moon hung low and pale, veiled behind drifting clouds. The valley stretched below them — a wasteland of stone and smoke, cut through by rivers of black water. It was said no wolf had crossed that land and returned.
Eli stepped forward, uneasy. "Are you certain this is where we'll find them?"
Aria's gaze didn't waver. "The Shadow Pack hides where no light touches. And this valley hasn't seen the sun in a century."
Damian's eyes flicked toward her. "You're sure they'll even listen?"
"They don't have to listen," she said softly. "They just have to remember."
Something in her tone made even the wind hesitate.
---
They descended into the valley before dawn.
The deeper they went, the colder it became — a damp, bone-deep chill that whispered of forgotten deaths. The mist grew thicker, alive with faint movements just beyond sight. Once or twice, Eli swore he saw eyes glinting in the dark, but when he turned, nothing was there.
By the time they reached the valley floor, the world had gone utterly silent. Even the rain had stopped.
Then came the first howl.
It rose from the depths of the mist, long and hollow, vibrating through the ground beneath their feet. A second howl answered it, closer this time — and then a third, behind them.
They were surrounded.
Damian drew his blade, motioning the pack into formation. "Stay close."
Aria didn't move. Instead, she stepped forward into the fog. "Show yourselves," she said, her voice calm but ringing with quiet authority.
The mist stirred — and out of it stepped shadows wearing the shape of wolves. Their eyes glowed crimson, their fur so dark it seemed to drink the light. There were dozens of them, their movements silent, their scent ancient and strange.
At their center stood a man.
He was tall, his skin pale as bone, his eyes the color of dying embers. His presence rippled like cold air before a storm. When he spoke, his voice was rough, like gravel ground beneath centuries.
"You dare walk into the valley of the exiled?"
Aria met his gaze without flinching. "We seek an alliance."
The man laughed — a sound too quiet and too cruel. "Alliance? With those who murdered our kin? With the wolves who called us traitors?"
Damian stepped beside her, his posture tense. "We didn't come for history. We came for war."
"War?" The man's expression shifted, the ghost of a smile twisting his lips. "Against whom?"
"The gods," Aria said simply.
The silence that followed was a living thing. Even the mist seemed to freeze.
The Shadow Alpha's amusement vanished. He took a step forward, his voice sharp. "You would challenge the divine?"
"I already did," Aria said. "And I survived."
The air changed. Whispers rippled through the shadows. The wolves behind him shifted restlessly.
The Alpha studied her for a long, terrible moment. "Who are you, girl?"
Aria pulled back her hood. The faint light of dawn caught her eyes — silver threaded with gold. The mark on her chest shimmered faintly beneath her collar.
"I am Aria Vale," she said. "Daughter of no one. Bound by the curse of the goddess, broken by it, and remade by something older."
Something flickered in the man's expression — recognition, or maybe fear.
"The Rift," he breathed. "It speaks again."
Aria tilted her head. "Then you remember."
---
They were led deeper into the valley, to the heart of the Shadow Pack's lair — a city of stone carved into the cliffs, hidden from the world. Fires burned low in hollowed caves, casting red light across walls marked with sigils older than memory.
The Shadow Alpha, whose name was Kael, sat before her on a throne of blackened bone. Around them, his pack watched in silence — eyes gleaming like coals, their faces unreadable.
Kael's tone was quieter now, though still edged with suspicion. "The Rift was sealed before the first packs walked the earth. No wolf was meant to bear its power again."
"I didn't ask for it," Aria said. "But the gods broke their own laws when they tried to kill me. Their fire woke something else instead."
Kael's gaze sharpened. "And you think this... Rift can be controlled?"
"No," she said. "But it can be aimed."
A murmur rippled through the chamber. Kael studied her a long moment, then rose to his feet. His power filled the space — not divine, not pure, but primal, old as hunger.
"You ask for alliance," he said. "But what do you offer in return?"
Aria took a slow breath. "Redemption."
Kael's expression hardened.
"You were cast out because you refused to worship a false goddess," Aria continued. "You were branded as traitors for wanting freedom. I can give you that freedom back. But I can't do it alone."
He stepped closer, his voice low. "And if you fail?"
Aria's eyes met his, steady. "Then I'll fall knowing I tried to do what none of you dared."
Silence again — then Kael laughed, but there was no cruelty in it this time. Only disbelief and something that sounded like awe.
"You speak like one who's already seen the end of the world."
"Maybe I have," she murmured.
Kael studied her a moment longer, then turned to his pack. "The gods have ruled our kind for too long," he said, his voice echoing. "Their light blinded us. Their mercy was a chain." He turned back to Aria. "If war is what you bring, then so be it. The shadows will fight beside you — not for faith, but for vengeance."
Aria bowed her head once. "Then we fight as one."
---
Later that night, when the pact was sealed in blood and fire, Damian found her standing at the edge of the cliffs overlooking the dark valley below. The moonlight kissed her face, making her look almost unreal — part mortal, part myth.
"You did it," he said quietly.
Aria didn't turn. "No. I just lit the first match. The fire's coming."
Damian came closer, his voice softer. "You're trembling."
"I can't tell if it's fear," she admitted, "or power."
He took her hand, his warmth grounding her. "Then let me be the part that reminds you which is which."
For a moment, she allowed herself to lean into him — just long enough to remember that she was still human enough to feel.
Below them, the Shadow Pack howled, their voices rising like a storm, echoing through the valley and into the night.
A war song.
A promise.
And as the wind howled back, Aria whispered to herself — not as a vow, but as a truth.
"Let the gods remember what it feels like to be afraid."
---