Chapter 5 Echoes of the Betrayed

The dagger missed Elara's head by inches, clanging against the stone wall behind her.

Thorne didn't wait. He spun toward the shadows and drew twin blades from the sheath across his back.

"Run," he barked.

"I'm done running," Elara snapped, summoning the wolf beneath her skin. The moonstone at her chest flared dimly as her pulse surged.

Three figures emerged from the corridor beyond the old archive hall, cloaked in shadow, their eyes glowing red with tainted magic. Bloodbound Hunters.

The Circle had sent an assassination team.

"You deal with the caster," Thorne growled. "I'll handle the dancers."

He didn't wait for agreement-just launched himself into a flurry of steel and fury.

Elara locked eyes with the smallest of the three-a robed figure whose hands dripped with black smoke.

She leapt.

Mid-air, she shifted, landing in full wolf form with a snarl. Her claws dug into the stone as she lunged, dodging a stream of bloodfire that exploded across the hall like a wave of molten tar.

The caster moved fast, ducking and rolling, whispering in the Old Tongue. Elara's fur stood on end as the magic clawed toward her mind. The moonstone vibrated, warning her.

"Too slow!" the caster hissed, hurling a crimson bolt at her chest.

Elara spun sideways, the blast grazing her ribs. Pain burned across her side, but she didn't stop. She pounced, her weight crashing into the mage's frame.

They hit the ground together.

The caster shrieked and twisted beneath her, arms flailing, trying to summon another spell.

Elara's fangs sank into the woman's wrist-hard. A crack. A scream. The spell died.

The woman writhed beneath her, and Elara growled, placing her paw against the caster's throat.

"Who sent you?" she demanded, half-shifted now, voice rasping between human and beast.

The woman choked. "The Seer... he knows... you've met the Marked One..."

"Elaborate."

But the woman only smiled, blood on her teeth.

"Elara Moonblood... you were never meant to live past tonight."

A whistling sound-too late.

The dagger came from behind.

But it didn't strike Elara.

Thorne appeared like a storm, deflecting the blade with one of his own. His arm bled from another skirmish, and one of the dancers lay unmoving behind him.

The third assassin fled into the tunnels.

"Let him go," Thorne said, panting. "He'll lead us to the next lair."

Elara stood, trembling, heart pounding. Her body ached. Her ribs burned. But she nodded.

"I need answers," she said.

Thorne looked grim. "Then you need to go deeper."

Back at the Duskvale keep, the Council's chamber pulsed with tension.

Fenric paced before the stained-glass moon, jaw tight. "Bloodbound in our tunnels? That close?"

Thorne leaned against a support beam, arms crossed. "Not Bloodbound. These were subjugated. Marked with glyphs I've seen only once-on the bodies at the Temple of Hollow Teeth."

Ilven frowned. "That temple was sealed a decade ago."

"Then someone reopened it," Thorne said.

Elara stood beside Fenric, arms folded, pain masked by stubborn pride.

"They were after me," she said. "And they knew Thorne had spoken to me. Which means someone inside Duskvale still feeds them information."

Murmurs erupted again.

"Enough," Fenric growled. "We purge the network, check every rune, every sigil. No one moves in or out without Council clearance."

"And me?" Elara asked.

"You... are leaving."

Her brow arched. "Excuse me?"

Fenric looked at her. "You're the target. And we need you alive. There's a sanctuary-deep in the Ashfang mountains. It's old, sacred, shielded from blood scrying. You'll go there until we can rally the northern packs."

"I'm not hiding while people die for me," she said sharply.

Thorne chuckled darkly. "That's not what the sanctuary is for. It's where the other relics were kept... where Moonblood was first bound."

The chamber fell deathly silent.

"Others?" Fenric asked.

Thorne nodded. "They weren't all killed. Some were... put into stasis. Frozen. Forgotten. Until now."

Elara's heart thudded. "Why didn't anyone tell me this before?"

"Because we thought the vault was lost forever," Fenric murmured.

Ilven exhaled slowly. "Then you'll go. Both of you."

Thorne raised an eyebrow. "I didn't volunteer."

"Consider it redemption," Fenric said coldly.

They left at dawn.

The wind howled through the cliffs as Elara and Thorne descended the southern ridge toward the hidden pass. Snow began to fall, coating the broken trail in white silence.

"No guards?" Elara asked.

"They'd only slow us down," Thorne replied, scanning the peaks. "Besides, this path isn't on any map."

"You're full of secrets," she muttered.

"I was trained to be."

They walked in silence for a while, the only sound their boots crunching on frost.

Then Elara spoke. "Why did you leave the Forsaken?"

He didn't answer right away.

"I saw what Fenric wouldn't," he said finally. "That the Council was fractured. That the Circle wasn't our only threat. The world's changing. But we cling to ancient lines like they're cages. So I left. Not because I betrayed the pack-but because I wanted to save it differently."

She studied him. "And now?"

"Now I follow the only heir who might actually burn it all down and build something better."

Elara almost smiled.

Almost.

They reached a ridge overlooking a valley choked in mist. Thorne knelt and touched a stone etched with runes.

"Here."

He muttered a phrase in a tongue Elara barely recognized. Old Wolf.

The ground trembled.

And then, as if peeled from the earth itself, a hidden staircase revealed itself, spiraling down into the mountain's belly.

Elara stared.

It was older than anything she'd seen. Carvings of wolves, moons, and bloodlines stretched along the walls. Symbols from a forgotten time.

Thorne lit a torch. "Welcome to Hollowdeep."

They descended.

Each step felt heavier. The walls seemed to whisper. Elara swore she heard her name echo softly in the dark.

They reached a large chamber-circular, domed, and filled with crystal pillars. In the center: a stone sarcophagus, sealed with silver and lunar glyphs.

"This is it," Thorne said.

He moved to the glyphs and placed his hand on the seal.

Nothing happened.

Elara stepped forward.

As she neared, the stone glowed.

Her presence was the key.

She laid a palm flat against the center glyph.

Light burst from the runes, casting the chamber in silver fire.

The seal split.

Inside the stone tomb lay a figure-not quite alive, not quite dead. Her features eerily similar to Elara's. Long black hair. A crescent scar beneath her left eye. And clutched in her hand, a blade made of moon-forged steel.

"She's been sleeping for over two hundred years," Thorne whispered.

"Who is she?" Elara asked.

"Asha Valen," he said. "The first Moonblood warrior."

Then-

The body gasped.

The woman's eyes snapped open-pure silver, glowing like the stars.

Elara stumbled back, heart racing.

Asha sat up slowly.

Her voice was like wind across ancient stone.

"Elara... blood of my blood... why have you come?"

Elara opened her mouth.

But the mountain began to shake.

Screams echoed down the stairwell.

Thorne cursed. "They followed us!"

Elara grabbed the moon-forged blade from Asha's hand and turned toward the stairway.

"Then let them try."