Thirty-One Years Ago — White Fang Den

Elira knelt at the altar beneath the moonlit roots, her palms slick with blood and soil.

Not her blood — her sister’s.

They had come before dawn. Hooded. Silent. Bone-cloaked.

The Old Kings.

Once banished, now returned through relics and shadows.

They had spoken no warnings. They had simply reached into Elira’s heart and torn half of it away. Her twin, her other self — Serai — fell without a scream.

Now Elira knelt, shaking, not in fear, but fury.

Her magic flared wild, unformed, hot as flame.

“I warned them,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I told the Elders. The Kings were stirring...