Chapter 9 Echoes of the old blood

Chapter Nine: Echoes of the Old Blood

The morning after the festival, Hollowroot shimmered with dew and light. The ash leaves whispered in the breeze like laughter, and smoke curled gently from the rebuilt longhouse. Mara stood barefoot in the grass, the Bone Sigil warm against her chest-not pulsing with urgency, but steady, calm.

Peace, for once, felt real.

But peace had a rhythm, and Mara was learning to listen to the way it faltered.

She noticed it first when Davi, the young Bound from the north, returned from patrol pale and trembling.

"There's something near the border," he said. "Something wrong."

Kaelen met Mara at the edge of the grove within moments. Riven was already there, leaning against her staff, eyes narrowed.

"It's not the Order," Riven said. "I would've felt them. This is older."

Mara nodded. "We investigate. Quietly."

The three of them moved swiftly, taking the river path eastward. The forest welcomed them now, no longer recoiling from their scent. Leaves parted at their passing, and roots held still beneath their boots. Birds watched but did not flee.

Then they found it.

A ring of trees, blackened at the edges, their bark peeled as if by invisible claws. In the center, a pool of water had turned dark, and something pulsed faintly beneath its surface.

"Blood magic," Riven muttered. "But not ours."

Mara crouched beside the pool, reaching out with one hand. The Bone Sigil glowed in response, the water bubbling.

Then the whispers began.

At first, they were faint-like wind through a broken window.

Then louder.

A chorus of voices, overlapping, fraying.

"Bound and broken... teeth and flame... the first howl... the first lie..."

Mara's vision swam. For a heartbeat, she saw not the clearing, but an ancient battlefield. Wolves-towering, monstrous-ripped through villages while armored figures cried out in forgotten languages. In the center of it all stood a woman crowned with antlers, eyes blazing.

Not Seraphine.

Older. Wilder.

Mara staggered back, gasping.

Kaelen caught her. "What did you see?"

"Not the end," Mara whispered. "The beginning."

Back in Hollowroot, the council gathered.

Mara paced the longhouse. "It wasn't the Order. This was something beneath them. Before them."

Riven unfolded an old map. "The place Davi found-that's near the Weeping Hills."

Clara had once told stories of the Weeping Hills. Of burial mounds and sealed tombs. Of the First Packs, long-lost ancestors of the Bound who had been cast out for crimes even the old laws couldn't forgive.

"They said some turned so fully into beasts, they forgot how to shift back," Riven added quietly. "They became feral. Not cursed-corrupted."

"And now they're waking up," Kaelen said flatly.

Mara looked at the Bone Sigil, then at the council. "We have to go there."

Davi blurted, "Alone?"

"No," Mara said. "But not with an army either. If this is what I think it is, we don't want to provoke whatever still sleeps beneath those hills."

Two days later, Mara, Kaelen, Riven, and Davi stood at the foot of the Weeping Hills. Mist rolled across the grass, and no birds sang here. Stones jutted from the earth-grave markers carved in forgotten scripts. Time had gnawed at them, but their presence was still heavy.

"Here," Riven whispered, stopping at a mound taller than the others. "I can feel it."

Kaelen drew her blade, though she held it low. "If it stirs..."

"We seal it again," Mara said.

But as they approached, the ground trembled.

A low growl rippled through the earth-not above them, but beneath.

Then a voice.

Not heard with ears, but in the blood.

"Daughter of claw. Bearer of bone. You wear the curse that was once a crown."

Mara froze. "Who are you?"

The voice was laughter and sorrow. "I am what you fled. I am what Seraphine feared. I am the First Howl."

Riven fell to her knees. "This is bad."

Kaelen steadied Mara. "Get out of its head."

But Mara stepped forward. "I'm not here to awaken you. I'm here to understand."

Silence.

Then: "Your world is soft. Your wolves have forgotten how to bite. But you carry the Sigil. You carry me."

The Bone Sigil flared white-hot.

And then-it split.

Mara cried out as the necklace broke in two, one half crumbling to dust, the other embedding itself into the soil at her feet.

"What the hell was that?" Kaelen yelled.

The voice was quieter now. "A test. Only one part of me belongs to you. The rest waits, buried. But beware, little wolf... the Bound were never alone in their rise. Nor will they be in their fall."

Then, silence.

The mist cleared.

And the ground stilled.

Mara stood, heart hammering. "We need to prepare. Whatever this First Howl is... it's not done."

Riven looked pale. "It's only just begun."

That night, back in Hollowroot, Mara held the remaining fragment of the Bone Sigil in her palm. It no longer pulsed-it hummed, soft and low, like a lullaby sung in a language older than any remembered.

Kaelen entered, closing the door behind her.

"You're changing," she said.

"I know."

"Into what?"

Mara looked up. Her eyes glinted gold in the candlelight. "Not a weapon. Not a relic."

Kaelen took her hand.

"Then into a leader. One the next howl won't destroy."

Mara nodded.

But outside, the wind howled.

And somewhere deep beneath the hills, something ancient listened.

Waiting.