Chapter 54 – Azaria #2
The squad noticed. Of course, they did. I caught the way Quin’s eyes lingered when the wolf stretched out by the fire.
The way Dain’s gaze sharpened when the wolf’s nostrils flared, catching a scent no one else could detect.
The way Thorne tilted his head, curious but never unkind, as if the earth itself approved of the wolf’s weight beside me.
And in the morning Lyra finally worked up the courage to touch him—fingers sinking into silver fur, her whole face lighting up as his tail thumped once against the floor—I felt something settle in my chest. He’d chosen me first. But he was learning to trust the others, too.
It was late—somewhere around the seventh evening bell—when I found myself back at the desk in the common room. Most of the squad had already turned in for the night, the space unusually quiet for once.
Only four of us remained: me, Dain, Kael, and Kalias.
The prophecy lay spread out between us, edges worn from handling. We’d been at this for days and still had nothing.
The mage lights overhead cast everything in a soft, steady glow. No shadows to hide in. Just words staring back at us from the parchment.
A flame bound in blood, sealed by traitor’s hand,
will hunger in silence, a hollow growing within.
When the hollow reaches the heart, the flame will die,
devoured by shadow, devoid of light.
Yet from death comes release. The shackle breaks, the void collapses.
Ash births fire, silence births song.
Wings of dawn, heart of ember, flame of soul, fire of flesh.
Two lights twined in one vessel.
Heal what cannot be mended, burn what cannot be healed.
Salvation and ruin shall bear one name. And the flame shall choose its path.
The flame shall fall into shadow, yet another’s soul shall kindle the spark.
One will pass, one will rise. The vow of earth will pay the price.
Kael dragged both hands down his face and groaned. “Seven days. Seven godsdamned days and we’re still at ’flame bound in blood could mean literally anything.’”
“It’s not nothing,” Dain said, though even he sounded tired. He tapped a line near the middle. “’Two lights twined in one vessel.’ That’s specific. Unusual.”
“Specific how?” Kael shot back. “Two magics? Two people? Two aspects of the same person? It could be metaphorical. It could be literal.”
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. My head ached. “We need context. Origin. Something to narrow it down.”
“The phrasing feels old,” Dain murmured, leaning forward again. His finger traced along the edges of the text. “’Wings of dawn, heart of ember.’ That’s not common tongue structure. It’s too poetic. Archaic.”
“It is an ancient fae,” Kalias said quietly.
We all turned to him. He sat perfectly still across the desk, silver-white hair catching the light, his expression unreadable.
Dain’s eyes narrowed. “You’re certain?”
“Yes.” Kalias’s finger traced a line of text. “This phrasing here—’ash births fire, silence births song’—that is a fae duality structure. They wrote prophecies in mirrored pairs. Creation from destruction. Light from the dark.”
“Can you read it?” I asked. “Translate it properly?”
“Some of it, perhaps. My mother was fae. She taught me the old tongue before she passed. The translation we have is the most accurate so far.” His voice was even, but something flickered in his eyes. Grief, carefully contained.
Was. Not is.
I caught the weight in his tone and didn’t press. Just nodded once and let the silence settle. But I tucked that detail away, too. Half-fae, half-shifter. An Alpha’s son searching for someone his father lost. And a prophecy about flames and shadows written in a dead language his mother taught him.
Dain broke the quiet, his voice gentler now. “Quin might help as well. He taught himself ancient fae from old texts in Dravareth.”
“Where is he tonight?” Kael asked.
“With his siblings,” I said. “They try to have dinner together when they can.”
Dain nodded. “I’ll reach out to a few of my contacts tomorrow as well. See if I can dig up anything on ancient fae prophecies. Maybe something closer to the original source.”
Kalias inclined his head. “I am grateful.”
“Don’t be,” I cut in before Dain could answer. I met Kalias’s gaze, steady. “You’re part of this squad now. We help you, and you help us. That’s how it works.”
His silver-blue eyes lingered on me, quiet and unreadable.
I tilted my head faintly. “Besides, the kids in Tempest already love you. That’s more help than you realize.”
His mouth curved, just slightly—more acknowledgment than smile—but it was enough.
Kael groaned and pushed the parchment away. “I need sleep. My brain’s done for the night.”
Dain stood as well. “Agreed. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”
I watched them go, then turned to Kalias. “Will you shift for the night?”
He inclined his head. “Yes. The wolf needs to run.”
We walked to the edge of the wards together, neither of us speaking. The silence between us had become comfortable over the past week. There was no need to fill it with words.
When we reached the boundary, Kalias pulled his shirt over his head without ceremony and stepped past the ward line into the trees. The shimmer came a moment later: silver light rippling across his skin, his form folding, bones sliding seamlessly into a new shape. The shift was powerful, but quiet.
And then the wolf stood where the man had been. He looked at me once, those silvery-blue eyes holding mine for a heartbeat, before turning and vanishing into the dark.
I found a tree at the perimeter and settled against it, tugging my cloak tighter against the night chill. The wards hummed at my back. I traced the line of them with no real aim.
Maybe an hour passed. Maybe more. The moon climbed higher, casting silver light through the canopy. Then the wolf appeared.
He stepped through the ward line and padded straight to me, his head dipping into my palm. The weight and warmth of it startled me for half a breath before I let out a quiet laugh. His fur was thick beneath my fingers, and his breath fanned warm against my wrist.
He nudged until my fingers began stroking the curve of his head. Then he leaned into my shoulder and flopped down beside me, his whole body pressed against mine like a living furnace.
I smiled, my fingers sliding behind his ear. “You came to see me again, hmm? Is this your way of asking for attention?”
He nosed at my hand, clearly pleased.
I leaned my forehead against his. “You’re terrible at keeping secrets, you know.”
He huffed in reply, breath warm against my skin.
I let my eyes close, fingers still buried in silver fur, and let the quiet settle over us both. Whatever this was—whatever he’d chosen me for—I’d figure it out, eventually.