A massive black root—petrified, twisted, glowing faintly silver from within—rose from the stone floor, its branches embedded into the walls like veins. Ancient runes crawled across its surface, not carved but grown, pulsing in slow rhythm with the Moon far above.
The Moon-root.
The last remnant of the First Howl.
“This will not feel gentle,” Nicero said, stepping toward it. “And once we begin, you cannot pull back.”
“I don’t care about pain,” I said.
He turned sharply. “You should. Because this will not be your pain alone.”
He extended his hand. I hesitated only a moment before placing the soul-vessel into his palm.
His eyes closed.
The chamber trembled.
The Moon-root pulsed violently as Nicero drew the vessel toward it, his magic flaring like a storm beneath his skin. I felt Papa’s presence tugged from my chest, stretched thin between worlds.
“No,” I gasped. “You’re pulling him apart—”
“He’s not anchored,” Nicero said tightly. “Your mate-bond collapse destabilized the line. If we don’t bind him now, he won’t survive the night.”
“What do you need from me?” I cried.
His eyes snapped open. “Your blood.”
I didn’t ask where.
I slashed my palm across the obsidian edge of the altar before he could move, crimson spilling onto the stone. The Moon-root reacted instantly—its veins lighting up, tendrils unfurling toward me like hungry serpents.
Nicero caught my wrist, pressing my bleeding palm against the root.
Pain lanced up my arm.
It wasn’t physical. It was ancestral.
Memories not mine flooded my senses—wolves running beneath a crimson sky, blood-oaths sworn over fallen kings, children branded with destiny before they could walk.
I screamed as the root wrapped around my arm, silver light threading into my veins.
Papa’s soul-vessel glowed brighter.
Then steadied.
I collapsed to my knees, gasping, my head spinning violently.
Nicero released my wrist, his expression unreadable as he examined the vessel. “He’s stable,” he said. “For now.”
Relief shattered me.
I pressed my forehead to the floor, my body trembling with exhaustion and gratitude. “Thank you.”
Silence answered me.
I looked up.
Nicero was watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
“You understand what you’ve done,” he said slowly. “Your bloodline is now marked by Blackfang magic. Silvermoon cannot reclaim you even if Kael begged.”
“I don’t belong to them anymore,” I replied.