We left before dawn, long before the first howls of warning could echo across the territory. Only three riders went: Leon, myself, and Thorne — Leon’s second-in-command and the most silent wolf I’d ever met.

My mother wanted to come, but I refused.

“You’ve bled enough for this line,” I told her. “This time… it’s my fire that has to burn.”

She didn’t argue.

Just handed me a small pouch of crushed stardust ash — fuel for magic older than memory — and kissed my forehead.

“Be careful,” she whispered. “The shrine doesn’t forget. And it never forgives lies.”

The Ascent

Struggling through dust-frosted trees and rugged rocks the trail...