“Better me than the realms.”
He snarls. “Sacrifice martyr lines won’t sway me. I watched a child die. I won’t watch another.”
“I am older than your great-granddam,” I remind gently. “The lattice ensures my timeline curves shorter than yours, regardless.”
“But not this short.” His fingertips drum the table; claws threaten to extend. “Let me guide you. My senses ride ley turbulence.”
Agreement lifts some of my burden. Yet pack will resist. “Your people need you.”
“They need a world that lasts past spring. I can leave Rowan in charge two days.”
His certainty warms cave air. “Very well.”
We fall silent, and into that lull the mourning chorus drifts again—closer this time, voices passing above chamber. The tones braid anguish with a fierce promise: we remember you. Something inside my chest bends; ribs ache as if my own bones answer the resonance.
Vision slams unbidden. Not the all-consuming collapse—smaller, immediate. I see Yarrow sprinting through snowfall, tongue lolling, laughter suspended, then the shadow spear piercing him, eyes rolling white. The scene blurs into Kylan’s roar, his own claws piercing small heart. My sight returns with salt on my cheeks.
Kylan notices tear tracks. “Vision?”
“Echo, triggered by the song.” I wipe quickly, though pain lingers. “Your pack’s grief rings through ley like struck iron. Oracles are tuned to such frequencies.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Does it harm you?”
“Resonance always slices.” I try smile. “But a clean cut carries truth.”
“Truth being?”
“That I cannot remain observer. Your losses now carve me, too.”
He looks away toward glowing shard. “Dangerous empathy.”
“Perhaps necessary.”
Footsteps pad outside. Rowan appears at doorway, bowing. “Alpha. The pyre ash has cooled. We scattered per rites.” His gaze flicks to me, tone cautious but civil. “Oracle.”
“Thank you,” Kylan says. “Post two guards beyond ridge pass. Double wards.”
“Yes, Alpha.” Rowan starts to leave, hesitates. “Council hawk arrived.” He holds cylinder. Kylan waves him in. Rowan sets message tube on table and exits.
Kylan twists cap, unfurls parchment. As he reads, brows knit deeper with each line. He passes it to me.
To Grimvale Alpha,
Crimson Dawn mobilizing near Twilight Forest. Evidence suggests tether to realm-rot source in your quadrant. Council convenes emergency session five nights hence.
Signed by Everest Ashfall, Isabelle Hao, Remi Salix, Zale Etienne—names heavy with recent legend.
“Five nights,” Kylan mutters. “And we need the shrine before that.”
“We leave at first light,” I decide.
He half smiles—sharp, approving. “Spoken like pack.”
I stand, wobble slightly. He steadies me with one large palm on elbow. Heat travels through sleeve, settling inside bones. “You should rest more,” he orders.
“No more visions tonight. Lattice dormant.”
His brow arches. “You can feel it sleeping?”
