A week later, the first storm broke.
Not the ravine’s.
The sky’s.
Clouds rolled in from the north, heavy and low, turning the light to a strange, greenish gray. Thunder muttered in the distance. The air crackled.
Rian stepped outside, tasted the wind, and swore. “She’s waking everything up,” he said.
“She?” Brenna asked, clutching her cloak. “The storm?”
“The old one,” he said. “Ashra. She loves dramatic timing.”
“Of course she does,” I muttered.
We’d spent the week preparing.
Stormwake’s stonekeepers had arrived—three of them, old wolves with eyes like river rocks and hands stained with pigment. Frostfang’s witches had sent a representative, a stooped woman named Anja who smelled of ice and pine sap and carried a staff topped with a crystal.
Ironpine’s scribes had sent scrolls.
We’d argued over every line.
Every chalk mark.
Every cut.
In the end, we’d settled on a ritual that looked deceptively simple on paper.
Three circles.
One around the ravine.
One smaller, around the central stone Callen had bled on.
And one, smallest of all, where I would stand.
Stormcallers and stonekeepers and witches would take positions at the cardinal points. Elyra and Rhys together at the north. Tiernan and Rian at the east. Nyla and Anja at the south. Varek and one of his scribes at the west.
Kellan would hold the warriors back.
Brenna and Eren had been banned from the inner circle by unanimous vote.
They were not happy.
“You’re my anchors,” I’d told them when they protested. “Literally. You’re staying in the outer ring, with Nana and the omegas. If something goes wrong, I need you alive. To yell at me later. To remind me who I am.”
Brenna had cried.
Eren had nearly punched Tiernan.
Nana had just squeezed my hand and said, “You better come back, little bird. I’m too old to raise another stormchild.”
Now, as thunder rolled closer, we walked together toward the ravine.
I wore simple clothes—tight training pants, a sleeveless top—barefoot. My parents’ beads rested against my wrist. Tiernan’s pendant lay cool at my throat.
Ashra prowled just under my skin, restless.
*We are doing this,* she said.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Talking to yourself again?” Brenna said weakly.
“Yes,” I repeated.
She hugged me hard at the outer boundary—a line of ash Kellan’s wolves had carefully laid around the ravine clearing.
“Come back,” she whispered fiercely. “Or I will dig you out of whatever hole you fall into and kick your ass myself.”
“I’ll…keep that in mind,” I said, throat tight.
Eren hugged me too, quickly, then stepped back, jaw tight.
“Don’t be a hero,” he said. “Just…be Kaia.”
“I don’t know the difference anymore,” I said.
He huffed. “Heroics are when you do something stupid and die. Kaia-ness is when you do something stupid and *live*. Aim for the second.”
I laughed, choked.
“Got it,” I said.
Nana kissed my forehead. “Remember,” she murmured, “you owe them nothing. Not the gods. Not the Goddess. You do this for you. For us. No one else.”
I nodded.
Then stepped over the ash line.
The air changed.
Colder.
Sharper.
Full of that humming pressure that had lived under my skin since the first shift.
The ravine yawned ahead, dark and waiting.
The stones stood like sentinels, symbols already chalked over with fresh lines, pigment glowing faintly.
Stormwake’s stonekeepers moved among them, murmuring in old tongues, laying small offerings at their bases—bits of iron, sprigs of herbs, small polished stones.
Anja traced sigils in the air with her staff, leaving trails of frost that hung for a heartbeat before dissolving.
Nyla rolled her shoulders, cracking her neck, eyes gleaming.
Varek adjusted his grip on a carved wooden rod, his scribe at his side clutching a scroll and looking like he’d rather be literally *anywhere* else.
Tiernan waited near the central stone, Rian at his back.
He wore no shirt.
Only simple trousers, his feet bare.
Old symbols traced his arms and chest in charcoal—Stormwake’s marks, drawn by the stonekeepers earlier. They matched the ones on the stones, interlocking circles and jagged lines.
He looked like something out of a legend.
My mouth went dry.
Ashra whistled. *Mate is very pretty.*
“Agreed,” I muttered.
He turned, sensing me.
His eyes burned.
“Ready?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “But let’s do it anyway.”
He smiled.
Together, we stepped into the second circle.
It was marked by a ring of river stones the stonekeepers had brought from Stormwake—a physical anchor to their own mountains.
At its center, a smaller ring of chalk waited.
“For you,” Rian said quietly.
“I feel special,” I muttered.
“You are,” Tiernan said simply.
The storm overhead growled.
Wind whipped my hair.
Elyra and Rhys took their positions at the northern point of the outer circle, hands clasped.
Nyla and Anja at the south.
Varek and his scribe at the west.
Tiernan and Rian at the east.
The stonekeepers spread out between them, murmuring.
Kellan circled the perimeter, wolf half-risen under his skin, warriors behind him.
Brenna, Eren, Nana and the omegas stood beyond, a small, fragile line of familiarity.
I stepped into the smallest circle.
The chalk squeaked under my bare feet.
Ashra settled, attention laser-focused.
*We hold,* she said.
“Ready,” Elyra called.
The air stilled.
Even the ravine seemed to…wait.
“Begin,” Rhys said.
And the world changed.
***
It started with sound.
Nyla’s low, throaty chant—a Frostfang binding song that spoke of ice and snow and stillness.
Rian’s rolling Stormwake melody, full of thunder and rock and rain.
Anja’s higher, almost eerie witch-song, threading between them like wind through trees.
Elyra added her voice—a Luna’s call, old and powerful, asking rather than demanding.
Varek’s bass joined reluctantly, Ironpine’s mountain-oath hidden in the cadence.
The stonekeepers hummed under it all, a deep, steady drone.
The words weren’t all in languages I knew.
Some weren’t in any language at all—just sounds, shaped to fit the stones, the land, the air.
They wrapped around me, filling my ears, my skull, my chest.
Ashra rose.
Not in a surge of fire.
In a slow *unfurling*.
We let go.
Just a little.
My bones stretched—not fully into wolf, but into something between. Claws pricked at the ends of my fingers. Fur rippled along my arms and spine, then settled. My senses sharpened.
The stones hummed.
The ravine…laughed.
*Hello, child,* Ashra-the-god’s voice murmured from below. *You brought friends.*
*We brought teeth,* Ashra-my-wolf snarled.
*And soup?* the other Ashra asked.
“Not now,” I hissed aloud.
Tiernan’s voice slid under the others, low and rough, speaking old Stormwake vows.
“For storm and stone,” he murmured. “For pack and land. For those who came before and those yet to come. We bind what should be bound. We free what should be free. We stand.”
His aura pressed warm against my back, steady.
“Kaia,” Elyra called softly. “Now.”
I reached.
Not down.
Not at first.
Inward.
To the ember behind my ribs.
To the lines of light tracing my veins.
To Ashra.
*Ready?* I thought.
*Always,* she said.
We extended our awareness outward, touching the edges of the smallest circle.
Then the second.
Then brushing the whole, humming ring of power the others were weaving.
It was…a lot.
Like standing in the middle of a web of lightning, every strand vibrating with different rhythm and flavor.
We anchored.
Not in the ravine.
Not yet.
In the *pack*.
In the land under our feet.
In the familiar scents of pine and smoke and wolf.
Then, slowly, we let our awareness sink.
Into the cracks.
Into the stones.
Into the dark.
The hum became…voices.
Whispers.
Cries.
Songs.
Elementals long dead, their echoes caught in the anchor.
Alphas who’d bled here centuries ago, their oaths and betrayals tangled.
The old Ashra, wrapped around it all like a coiled serpent.
*You came,* she murmured. *Good girl.*
“We’re not here for you,” I said through gritted teeth. “We’re here to *seal* you.”
She laughed. *Adorable.*
Heat shimmered along the cracks.
Power pressed up from below, testing the ritual’s edges.
The stonekeepers’ chant faltered for a heartbeat, then steadied.
Anja’s staff flared with cold light.
Nyla’s breath frosted the air.
Tiernan’s hand brushed my shoulder from outside the circle—gentle, grounding.
“You’ve got this,” he said softly. “Talk to the land, Kaia. Not to her. She’s noise. The land is what holds us.”
He was right.
Ashra-the-god was loud.
Flashy.
Distracting.
But under her, the ravine *itself* had a slower, deeper pulse.
Lonely.
Tired.
Torn.
*We see you,* I thought, focusing there. *Not just her. You.*
The cracks…quivered.
Not physically.
In that inner-space where power lived.
*You are not a mouth,* I thought. *You are not a wound. You are earth. Stone. You held roots and water before wolves bled on you. Before gods laughed in you. Remember.*
Ashra-my-wolf hummed agreement.
*Remember,* she echoed.
The hum…shifted.
Soothed.
A small section of the crack *closed*.
Not fully.
But…a little.
Encouraged, I pushed further.
Behind me, the others’ chants changed key.
Low to high.
Slow to fast.
Anchoring what I did.
Sweat dripped down my spine.
My legs trembled.
My arms ached from holding my hands outstretched.
Tiernan’s presence wove through mine, not taking over, just…supporting. Lending his own storm-sense, his bone-deep familiarity with mountain lightning, to help me read the ravine’s weird currents.
We worked.
Together.
Time lost meaning.
It might have been minutes.
Hours.
Years.
At some point, my knees buckled.
I hit the dirt.
The chalk circle smeared under my palms.
Power surged.
*Now,* the old Ashra whispered slyly. *You are weakest. Let me help…*
Ashra-my-wolf snarled, bristling. *She is not yours.*
But my defenses had holes.
Fear.
Exhaustion.
Doubt.
Through them, the old goddess’s presence pressed.
Closer.
Hotter.
*Let me in,* she murmured. *I will take the weight. I will seal this. You’ll never have to carry it again.*
It was tempting.
For a heartbeat.
The idea of handing everything off.
Of not being the fulcrum.
Of not having to be strong.
Then I thought of Callen.
Dangling a pup over a ravine.
Of Lyra.
Bleeding words like knives.
Of my parents.
Bodies in the snow.
Of Brenna.
Nana.
Eren.
Tiernan.
Their faces, lined up in my mind.
Not chains.
Anchors.
*We* anchor, Ashra-my-wolf said.
*We don’t hand the leash to someone else.*
I bared my teeth.
“No,” I said aloud.
The old Ashra hissed.
*Ungrateful,* she spat.
*Stubborn,* I corrected.
We shoved.
Not at the ravine.
At *her*.
At the curl of presence trying to seep into my cracks.
It hurt.
Like ripping skin.
Like tearing out splinters.
But slowly—*slowly*—her pressure receded.
Not gone.
Never gone.
But…pushed back.
Contained.
The ravine’s own hum rose, filling the space.
I panted.
The world narrowed.
Sweat stung my eyes.
My arms shook.
“Kaia,” Tiernan’s voice said somewhere above me, ragged. “Let it go. That’s enough. We’ve got it.”
“Not…yet,” I gasped. “One more…layer…”
Rian’s voice joined. “She’s right,” he said. “We can feel it. One more turn. One more…knot.”
Elyra’s chant shifted, tone sharpening. Rhys’s voice dropped an octave, power rolling off him in waves.
Nyla’s hands moved faster, weaving cold sigils.
Anja’s staff blazed.
I poured the last of my strength into the cracks.
Into the stones.
Into the land.
*Remember,* I whispered again. *Remember yourself. Close. Rest. For now.*
The ravine sighed.
A deep, shuddering sound.
The humming lines of power…drew in.
Like a wound scabbing.
Like a mouth closing.
The last open seam…knit.
Not with mortar.
With *agreement*.
Not perfect.
Not permanent.
But sealed enough that the next tug wouldn’t immediately rip it wide.
The world…snapped.
The chants stuttered and stopped.
The air rushed back into my lungs.
I collapsed fully, cheek hitting cold earth.
Someone shouted my name.
Hands—so many hands—reached for me.
I felt Tiernan’s before all others.
Strong.
Calloused.
Shaking.
He gathered me up, cradling my limp body against his chest, heart hammering against my ear.
“Kaia,” he rasped. “Hey. Stormheart. Breathe. Please.”
I managed a wheezing laugh.
“Did…we…do it?” I croaked.
Rian collapsed beside us, flopping onto his back. “If we didn’t,” he groaned, “then the gods are crueler than I thought.”
Anja shuffled to the ravine’s edge, peered down, then nodded once.
“For now,” she said. “It sleeps. The crack is…stitched. Not gone. But…less hungry.”
“Callen?” Sera’s small voice whispered from the outer ring.
Everyone stiffened.
Anja hesitated.
“He’s…not here,” she said carefully. “Not in the same way. There’s…something of him. Echo. Not…body.”
Sera sobbed.
Tiernan’s arms tightened around me.
“We’ll find him,” he murmured against my hair. “One way or another. We won’t leave him screaming in the dark.”
My chest ached.
From the exertion.
From the weight of everything.
From the way his voice broke on *leave him*.
Nana appeared at my side, tears streaking her wrinkled cheeks.
“You did it,” she whispered. “Foolish child. You did it.”
Brenna barreled through the crowd a second later, eyes wild.
“Don’t you ever do that again,” she sobbed, punching my shoulder.
“Ow,” I croaked.
Eren hovered behind her, jaw tight, eyes suspiciously shiny.
“You’re a menace,” he said gruffly. “But you’re our menace.”
Ashra hummed, exhausted.
*We are not broken,* she said. *We bent. Again.*
“Sleeping,” I mumbled.
“Good idea,” Tiernan said softly.
As darkness pulled at me, I heard the faintest echo from the ravine.
Not a laugh.
A sigh.
*For now,* the old Ashra murmured. *You win this round, little storm.*
I drifted under with my mate’s arms around me and my pack’s voices above.
For the first time since this all began, the dark felt…less like falling.
More like rest.
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