"To where?" Nero demanded.
"The Fenrir Crypts," Veda answered, unfurling a scroll from her tunic to reveal a detailed map of the mountain range. "Ancient burial chambers beneath the old temple. According to our new intelligence, Doran has been preparing a ritual site there for weeks."
Eryken's expression darkened. "But why?"
Veda met his gaze. "Blood magic." She glanced at Nero. "I'm assuming the wolf transfer has already successfully happened once? My spies tell me your lieutenant now houses the wolf soul."
Nero narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?" She took his question as an assent.
"Blood magic is known to the priesthood. Especially dark blood magic, so the priests can be taught to counter it. He wants to do it a second time."
For a moment it seemed like the very heavens themselves held their breath. “No,” whispered Nero.
"That's impossible," Lord Morven interjected. "The wolf-soul chooses its vessel. It cannot be commanded."
"In your case, yes. But he intends to force the wolf out this time."
"But he only found out it had transferred barely a day ago, if that," Nero said.
Veda sent him a level look. "This was always his plan, and why he spent two moons trying to bring the wolf forward in Casteel. He could not guarantee his future power on the whims of others. From the second Casteel changed, this was what Doran intended. The transfer to you was unexpected, but as far as he is concerned the plan will still go ahead."
“But how does he know it will work a second time?" Lord Morven asked. "The wolf may not wish it."
"Black magic will compel it," Veda said. She paused and met Nero's gaze. "The wolf will be convinced you will die. What they will put you through won't be pleasant."
"Then we need to keep Nero well away," Morven snapped.
"Which is why they will torture Casteel first," Veda said. "To ensure you try to save him."
Nero’s vision tunneled, the edges of the world dimming to the singular thread that still bound him to Casteel. Pain pressed behind his eyes, hot and insistent, but he forced his breathing to remain even.
“How long?” he asked, voice flat.
“Dawn,” Veda said. “He’ll want the ritual complete before full light to harness the liminal power. And the crypt’s wards will be strongest at twilight and weakest just before sunrise. That will be our window.” She sighed. "I miss enemies with bows and arrows…"
“We move now,” Nero said, already turning. “Morven—take the survivors north. Keep River with you.”
Martha’s hand tightened around the boy’s, and River looked up, his mouth set stubbornly. “I’m coming with you.”
“No,” Nero said, no room for argument. He crouched and gripped River’s shoulders. “Listen to me, pup.” The words tasted of salt and blood and every oath he’d ever sworn. “If I know you’re behind me, I will look back. And if I look back, I die.” He made himself say it. “He dies.”
River swallowed, tears brightening his eyes. “You promised.”
“I did,” Nero said. “And I intend to keep it.” He slid a blade from his belt—a narrow fighting knife with a stripped leather hilt—and turned it, offering the handle. “Pack law: you carry the heart-knife until the alpha returns. Guard it. If anyone asks whose knife it is, you tell them it’s the Silver Wolf’s.” It was made-up on the spot but it was a rule worth following.
The boy’s fingers closed around the hilt as if it were a lifeline. “And you’ll come back?”
Nero leaned in, pressed his brow to River’s for the barest moment. “I will crawl on shattered bones if I must.”
Eryken’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Enough.”
They moved at once, rebels arriving with spare horses.
Veda took point, her map committed to memory, her horse speeding unerring through black pines and knife-edged ridges. Lucan and two of Morven’s best scouts flanked them, shadows with bows. Eryken matched Nero’s horse's pace but his gaze was fixed on Veda, breath steady.
The night thinned toward a colorless pre-dawn. Frost glazed stone, and the stars felt too near, as if the heavens had leaned closer to witness.
“Here,” Veda murmured finally, halting at the mouth of a ravine that cut the mountains like a wound. She dismounted and knelt, brushing away leaves to reveal a sigil carved into bedrock: a circle of interlocked wolves with a spear rammed through their backs.
