Page 31 of A Sunwoven Ascent

Kaldrek tore through the wet grass, breath steaming in white bursts that vanished almost at once. In wolf form, scent became map. Sound became distance. Movement became truth. He tasted fear on the wind drifting from the village, heard the distant shouts of Moonshade and Glaciermaw driving civilians indoors, heard the pounding of paws as the perimeter drew tight. Beneath it all, threading through everything like smoke in his lungs, the whisper came again. Closer now. More voices.

He felt them moving in the dark, slipping from mist to flesh and back again, never staying solid long enough to be caught. A taunt. A trail laid with purpose.

“He follows,” the voice purred, shivering with delight. “Yes. The alpha follows.”

Holden moved behind him like a second shadow, never straying far. He did not serve from a distance. He served with teeth and blood.

Kaldrek reached for him through the pack bond.

Stay back. Let me scout.

A hard pulse of stubbornness answered at once.

No.

Kaldrek felt the refusal more than heard it, felt it settle into Holden’s stride and the set of his body.

Holden.

Not without you, Holden sent back.

Kaldrek’s frustration flared, then faded. Holden was not acting from pride, but from loyalty too fierce and deeply rooted to challenge.

The whispers slid through the trees again, drawing them onward. “Come farther,” they breathed. “Follow us.”

Kaldrek did not slow, but his mind stayed focused. This was not a raid. Not the sloppy hunger of Noskari drawn to easy prey. They were not rushing the village. They were not tearing into civilians. They were not even trying to breach the packs’ ring of teeth.

Instead, they were scattering themselves like bait.

One thin wisp of black mist streaked across the path ahead, taking human shape just long enough for Moonshade wolves to give chase, then dissolving again. Another figure appeared near the eastern edge, a silhouette meant to be seen, meant to be followed, dragging the other packs outward in a wide sweep.

Like a distraction.

A net.

And Kaldrek was the intended catch.

The whisper nearest him deepened, as if it had leaned close to his ear. “South,” it urged. “Go south, Alpha. To the place she came from. The place your blood remembers.”

Kaldrek’s stride faltered for half a heartbeat. Not because he believed them. But because the word landed in a place inside him that had no business responding.

The south. Velenshire. The home of his mother.

The voice smiled into his mind.

“Yes,” it crooned. “You feel it. Your magic is stirring. It wants a vessel. It wants purpose. It wants to be used.”

Kaldrek bared his teeth as he ran, a silent snarl. They were lying.

“You are more than wolf. More than teeth. More than scars.”

Visions flashed at the edge of Kaldrek’s mind like some dream not his own: a tree blazing with unnatural light, bloodroot veins throbbing beneath black soil, a woman’s hands stained with crimson. A cradle. A crown. Vaelora.

He forced the images back and felt Holden press nearer.

Kaldrek sent again, harsher: Circle back. Stay where you can see the treeline. If they’re drawing us out, they want space.

You’re not going alone, Holden responded with annoyance.