The silence that followed Elder Faelon's words clung to the air like frost.
Lyon sat motionless, the firelight flickering across his face, casting sharp shadows around his eyes. Something new lived behind them now—something that hadn't been there before. Not rage. Not fear. Not even the confusion of being hunted.
It was something deeper.
Resolve.
A quiet determination that felt as ancient as the moon above them.
Elder Faelon noticed it first. His old eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as though he were seeing Lyon for the first time—not as the broken wolf who stumbled into the clearing, not as the boy who died and returned… but as something beginning to awaken.
Something destined.
"Good," Faelon said finally, his voice low. "Resolve is the first step. The path ahead will tear at you—mind, heart, and spirit. If you falter even once—"
"I won't," Lyon said.
The old man wasn't convinced. "You will. Everyone falters, heir. The question is whether you rise again."
Lyon clenched his fists. "Then I'll rise."
Before Faelon could respond, the door behind them creaked open. Mira stepped inside, bow strapped across her back, silver eyes sharp with concern.
"He's ready," she said simply.
Faelon sighed. "I hope so."
---
The Cold That Spoke
The three walked out of the cabin and into the clearing. Night had fallen harder now, a dense darkness blanketing the forest. The air crackled with an energy Lyon couldn't explain—like the trees themselves held their breath.
Faelon raised his staff, murmuring something under his breath. Ancient runes carved into the bark of nearby trees shimmered faintly.
"What is this place… really?" Lyon asked.
"A sanctuary," Mira answered. "One of the few left."
"A sanctuary from the hunters," Lyon said quietly.
She shook her head.
"A sanctuary… from what you carry within you."
Lyon swallowed.
That spark in his chest pulsed again—soft, warm, steady. But also unpredictable, like a heartbeat that didn't belong to him.
Faelon turned to him, face grave.
"Tonight, we will unlock the first veil around your reborn power."
A chill ran down Lyon's spine.
"And if I'm not ready?"
"Then the forest will kill you before the hunters get the chance."
Lyon inhaled sharply.
Faelon wasn't joking.
---
Awakening the Reborn
The ritual circle was carved deep into the earth—older than the cabin, older than the forest, maybe older than the Order that now hunted him.
Four stones stood at its edges, humming with low vibrations.
Mira walked around Lyon, tightening a leather strap around his wrist.
"What's this for?" he asked.
"To stop you from ripping your own arm off," she said bluntly.
He blinked.
"…Oh."
She paused, fingers brushing his skin. "You can still change your mind."
"No," Lyon said. "If I don't control this power, I'll die anyway."
Mira nodded once. "Good."
Faelon lifted both hands. The stones lit up in a soft blue glow.
"The power inside you is not just inherited," he said. "It is reborn. That makes it unstable, unpredictable… and dangerously loud."
"Loud?" Lyon asked.
"The hunters felt your awakening last night," Faelon replied. "But if you don't learn control, they won't need to chase you. They'll simply follow the tremors of your existence."
Lyon felt his pulse quicken. "So what do I do?"
"You open yourself," Faelon said. "Fully. Completely. Let the power show itself, and we will find its limits."
"How do I open—"
"By remembering your death."
Lyon froze.
Mira stepped forward. "Lyon—"
"No," Faelon interrupted sharply. "He needs the truth, not comfort."
He slammed the staff into the ground.
The circle flared white.
Lyon gasped as the world around him dissolved.
---
A Memory Reborn
He was back.
Back in the rain.
Back on the cold ground, mud clinging to his palms.
Back staring up at the masked hunter who had ended him.
Every breath seared his lungs. Every heartbeat felt like thunder.
This wasn't a vision.
It was reliving.
"You're weak," the hunter's voice echoed.
"A broken wolf. Nothing more."
Lyon shivered.
He remembered.
His legs shaking.
His ribs broken.
His throat raw from screaming.
The hunter lifted his blade.
"This world has no place for the weak."
Lyon felt himself shrinking… breaking… drowning in that helplessness again.
But then—
Something changed.
The spark in his chest began to burn.
Not faintly.
Not softly.
But fiercely.
"That's it," Faelon's voice whispered from somewhere far away. "Let it rise."
The hunter raised the blade higher.
Lyon didn't cower.
Not this time.
He stood—not in the past, but in a place between past and present—face to face with the man who killed him.
"You're wrong," Lyon said.
The hunter paused.
"You should have finished the job," Lyon growled.
The spark exploded.
White fire streaked through his veins, consuming the fear, erasing the helplessness. His heart hammered like it was forging steel inside his chest.
A snarl tore from his throat—deep, primal, powerful.
The scene shattered.
---
Power Without a Name
Lyon collapsed to his knees, gasping.
He was back in the clearing, the ritual circle glowing violently. Mira rushed to him, grabbing his shoulders.
"Lyon! Can you hear me?!"
His hands shook uncontrollably, bluish-white light leaking from beneath his skin.
Faelon stepped closer, eyes wide—not with fear, but awe.
"…By the ancient gods," the elder whispered. "He awakened the Core Echo."
Mira stiffened. "That's a myth."
"It was," Faelon said, voice trembling. "Until now."
Lyon forced himself upright.
"What… what did I just do?"
"The Core Echo," Faelon said slowly, "is the true pulse of a reborn heir. It is the memory of your death fused with the potential of your second life."
Lyon swallowed hard.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning," Faelon said, "you are far more dangerous than anything the Order has prepared for."
Mira sucked in a breath. "Then we need to hide him—"
"No," Faelon cut her off. "We need to train him."
The elder pointed at Lyon, his eyes burning with purpose.
"The hunters will come faster now. They will sense this surge before dawn. But if we guide this power… you might just survive long enough to become what you were meant to be."
Lyon looked down at his trembling hands—hands that were no longer weak.
Hands that held something terrifying and magnificent.
"…What am I meant to be?" he asked quietly.
Faelon placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Not the weakest wolf."
He leaned in.
"But the one the gods chose to break fate itself."
Lyon's breath hitched.
The forest wind howled in agreement—an eerie, ancient sound that made the trees bend.
Mira tightened her grip on her bow.
"Then we start now," she said.
Faelon nodded.
"Tonight," he declared, "the true training begins."
Lyon stood tall, the Core Echo pulsing inside him like a second heart.
His war had begun.
But now?
He was no longer running blindly.
He was rising.