The earth trembled beneath heavy boots.
Blood-scent rode the wind like a warning.
Yet they walked, tired and hopeful, toward the stone arch nestled in the ridge—a broken thing. And still… they hoped.
Khal’ Sira walked among them.
Small. Soft.Strong.
But she had freed me.
Her scent was fire and ancient power. Her spirit unbroken. Untamed.
A queen without a crown, yet the world bowed when she breathed.
I approached the dead archway. Stones collapsed in places, roots crawling where magic once lived. My claws pressed into a shattered glyph. Energy sparked—weak, fading—then died like a dying star.
Not enough.
The portal would not hold.
They gathered behind me—her warriors.
Protective.
Suspicious.
Afraid.
The fire-handed one—the snarling male—glared as if they might kill me. The Draxon-possessed twins watched with predatory focus. The shadow-wielder poised, ready to strike.
I could break them all.
Yet I bore no fangs.
My debt was to her.
I turned, towering above them. My voice slid into their minds, heavy and rough. “I am called Kharox.”
The fire-handed male blinked. “Carrots?”
The one called Chloe elbowed him so hard his breath left his lungs.
Good female. Sharp. Deadly.
We reached the broken archway, roots strangling ancient stone. The air tasted wrong—old magic and dust. I pressed a claw to the glyph. Blue sparks crawled up my arm, then died.
Dead portal.
The pack reacted as Aurathions tend to do—voices, panic, questions. But I watched Khal’ Sira.
Her breath stuttered.
Her face filled with disappointment.
She feared losing the others on the far side—her family, her tribe.
“Can we fix it?”
