The wind swirled, carrying the scent of earth and smoke. The Heartwood pulsed once—slow, ancient, unmistakably alive—a heartbeat waking up.
The druid knelt on Wolfe’s other side and placed their palms on the soil again. The dirt glowed faintly around their fingertips—warmth spreading along the roots. “Are you ready?” they asked.
Wolfe nodded sharply. No hesitation. No doubt.
I nodded too, even though my pulse hammered against my throat.
“Then let us begin.” The druid’s fingers pressed deeper into the earth, and the ground responded—soil shifting, roots tightening, a low hum rippling beneath our knees, humming up my shins, settling into my bones. My wolf lifted its head, ears pricking, not frightened…but aware.
The tree above us creaked, not from the wind that had picked up, but from awareness. The Hollow was listening and watching. Choosing. It wasn’t just choosing Wolfe, it was choosingus.
“Place your hand here,” the druid murmured, touching the soil in front of Wolfe.
Wolfe didn’t hesitate. His palm hit the ground, fingers spread wide, and the earth responded immediately—roots moving beneath the surface, curling toward him as if scenting his presence.
“Now you, Rowen.” I pressed my hand into the earth. The reaction wasn’t immediate like Wolfe’s; it was explosive. The soil warmed beneath my palm, heat spreading up my arm in a throbbing pulse that made me gasp. The Heartwood, towering above us, creaked again—its bark glowing faintly, as if light hid just beneath it.
The druid’s voice softened into a chanting murmur—words I didn’t understand, a language that seemed older than any wolf alive.
I felt Wolfe stiffen beside me. I sensed it before my mind registered—our bond tightening, my heartbeat matching his, our wolves pressing close enough that, for a moment, I could swear I felt his fur brushing mine. Then—something deeper.
Lower.
Older.
The Hollow’s presence slid beneath my skin. A cool weight. A warmth rising. A pulse that wasn’t mine.
I inhaled sharply. “Wolfe?—”
His free hand immediately found mine, fingers gripping tightly. “I’m here.”
The druid’s voice grew louder. “The land sees you. The land knows you. It recognizes what grows within you.”
My breath froze.
The Hollow’s power suddenly shifted—water diverted by a stone. I sensed a second pulse radiate outward, gentler, smaller…but still clear. Warm yet curious. Unmistakably alive. It pushed against me from within, and I didn’t question how I knew what it was.
Our child.
The Hollow touched him. Light—not bright or blinding, but warm, like sunlight filtering through leaves—spread beneath my palm. The soil glowed faintly around my hand, and beneath my skin, something fluttered softly—a heartbeat responding to a heartbeat.
Tears stung my eyes. “It knows him.”
Wolfe’s fingers clenched around mine. I sensed his shock like a jolt, then awe that made the bond flare hot.
The druid didn’t sound surprised. “He was formed within the Hollow’s embrace. The land knows every life conceived under its breath.”
A third pulse struck—this one aimed at Wolfe. He inhaled sharply, his shoulders tensing. His wolf clawed behind his eyes, bright and fierce.
“The land accepts you both,” the druid said. “But it binds to him as well.”
“To our son?” I whispered.
The druid nodded. “He is Hollowborn and Stonefang-blooded. A bridge of two territories that did not stand together—and yet do.”
My heart hammered. Wolfe bowed his head, not out of submission but because the force pressing into him demanded acknowledgment. His hand trembled in mine—not from fear, but from the weight of what the Hollow was doing.
“He will be powerful,” the druid murmured. “Not by magic alone. By lineage. By bond. By choice.”
