Chapter 1 Prologue

Elridge Continent

15 Years Ago - Lang-Clark Residence, Deepwood Woods, Carronhill.

The smell of cinnamon stew warmed the small forest cabin. Rain drummed lazily on the roof, and the fireplace crackled in the corner, casting golden light on the wooden walls.

Amara stirred the pot with one hand, brushing a curl behind her ear with the other. Her eyes softened as she looked at her husband.

Caleb was setting the table with exaggerated care, lining up the spoons like a military drill. "You know she'll just toss the carrots aside again," he said with a grin.

He sighted his daughter's piggy doll on the floor and made a mental note to move it.

Amara smiled. "She's five. Carrots are the enemy."

Their daughter, Ivy, had finally dozed off on the couch in the living room, bunny in hand, after whining about stew and naps. Everything felt... still. Safe. Almost enough to forget who she used to be.

Then the air shifted.

It was subtle. Just a cold curl in Amara's spine. The wolf inside her-long dormant-growled awake.

She froze. "Caleb-"

The words never finished.

His chest exploded in front of her.

Claws burst through his back-sharp, silver-tipped-and dragged him off the ground. Blood sprayed across the table. His eyes met hers for a single, silent second before they went lifeless.

The wall shattered. Three wolves in black armor stormed in, no words, no mercy. Elite enforcers. Council dogs.

Amara screamed-and shifted.

Her bones cracked, muscles stretching, fur surging. She became the wolf she hadn't been in years, sleek and silver, teeth bared. She launched at the closest attacker, ripping into his shoulder, throwing him through the wall.

Another tackled her.

Claws slashed.

Teeth tore.

Flesh burned.

She fought like a mother, not a warrior. Her movements were fueled by rage-but rusty from peace. The third attacker struck from behind, claws driving deep beneath her ribs.

She yelped-high, sharp, broken.

Blood soaked the kitchen floor.

The last thing Amara saw was the stew bubbling over on the stove and Caleb's hand twitching on the floor.

Then darkness.

2 hours later,Ivy blinked awake, rubbing her eyes. The room smelled like smoke and something strange. Bitter and sharp. Her bunny lay on the floor where she must have dropped it.

She sat up. "Mommy?"

No answer.

The house felt wrong. Still. Heavy. Like it was holding its breath.

She slid off the couch and tiptoed down the hallway. "Daddy?"

Still nothing.

The stew was burning on the stove. The table was flipped. Bowls shattered. A chair broken in half. Her piggy doll lay face-down in something dark and sticky.

Then she saw the blood.

Thick. Fresh. Splattered on the walls. Trailing toward the back room.

She followed it.

And then everything stopped.

Her eyes landed on a body-fur-covered, mangled, curled in on itself like an animal. But it wasn't an animal.

It was her mother.

Silver fur, soaked in blood. Her limbs twisted. Her eyes wide and lifeless. Ivy had never seen anything like it. She didn't know people could look like that. She didn't know her mother could be... something else.

Her breath caught as she realized her mother-her soft, warm, humming mother-was dead. Her stomach was torn open. Blood everywhere. So much blood.

And beside her...

Her father.

His chest was gone. Not wounded. Gone. His body slumped, limbs distorted, face turned toward the ceiling with eyes already glassy.

Ivy's knees buckled. Her chest tightened. Her breath came too fast. Too sharp. The room twisted. The walls spun.

She couldn't scream.

She couldn't run.

And just before the darkness swallowed her, she let out a tiny, broken whisper:

"...Mommy?"

Then everything went black.

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