The news reached Wren at dawn.
She was in the middle of grinding starroot petals into dust when the familiar cadence of wolf footsteps echoed outside her cottage—heavy, impatient, and far too many to be friendly. She didn't flinch. She wiped her hands clean, stood up slowly, and stepped outside without so much as a protective charm humming beneath her skin.
They were waiting. Seven wolves in human skin—elders in leather cloaks, with hollow eyes and clenched jaws. Cassian stood at their center, arms folded, expression unreadable. His eyes, though, burned like embers starved of oxygen.
"Wren Hadley," Elder Korin barked, voice carrying across the clearing like thunder. "By order of the Council, you are summoned. Now."
Wren raised a brow, calm despite the ripple of tension twisting her gut. "Summoned for what, exactly?"
Korin's nostrils flared. "For consorting with an entity of darkness. For practicing forbidden rites beyond the bounds of the treaty. For threatening the magical balance of the region."
A lesser witch would've bowed. Apologized. Begged for mercy.
Wren just crossed her arms. "You didn't mind when I saved your crops in the drought. Or healed your granddaughter's fever. Or sealed your border when the necroflies returned last summer."
Cassian's voice cut in like a blade. "This isn't about what you've done. It's about what you're becoming."
That hit harder than she expected. For a moment, it stripped her clean.
"And what is that, exactly?" she asked, voice low. "A threat? Or just inconvenient for you?"
Cassian didn't answer.
Wren's eyes scanned the council, then the handful of villagers peeking from behind doorways. Her mouth twisted into something colder than a smile.
"I'll come," she said, stepping forward. "But I'll speak freely. And you'll listen."
Korin looked like he wanted to protest, but Cassian lifted a hand. "Agreed."
They escorted her—not in chains, but close enough to make it feel like a show. Wolves patrolled the perimeter as she entered the council chambers, where magic was muted and intentions were weighed like sins.
The chamber hadn't changed. Still stone walls, lined with carved reliefs of wolves and witches shaking hands—back when peace had been more than just a performance. The high hearth was unlit. The crescent council table loomed like a jury box in a trial no one expected her to win.
Wren stood in the center. Alone. Unafraid.
"You've been seen with a creature who walks between life and death," Elder Marlin began. "A Shadow Wolf. Do you deny this?"
"No," Wren said.
Gasps echoed.
Korin leaned forward. "Then you admit you've broken the treaty."
"What treaty?" she snapped. "The one that treats witches like pawns and wolves like kings? The one that says we're allies only when you need healing or blood magic, but we become threats the moment we're stronger than you?"
Cassian's jaw twitched. "That's enough."
"No," she said sharply. "You don't get to silence me now. You rejected me because of what I am. Not because I was dangerous—but because I didn't fit your mold."
The room grew colder.
Cassian rose from his seat. "You know that's not why I—"
She cut him off. "You said a witch couldn't be Luna. Couldn't be yours. That it would destroy the Pack."
Silence.
"Was that your fear, Cassian? Or theirs?" she asked, eyes piercing. "Because right now, it looks like you're all more scared of a witch who refuses to stay in her place than of any actual enemy."
The air crackled. Her magic wanted out. It shimmered at her fingertips, not as threat, but truth.
Elder Irena finally spoke, voice trembling. "And what place do you believe you hold now, child?"
Wren lifted her chin. "I hold my place. One earned—not given. I've learned from the darkness you're so terrified of. And I've come back stronger. I won't kneel. Not to wolves who use fear to disguise fragility."
"Then you leave us no choice," Korin growled. "You're hereby banished from the Hollow Glen Packlands. Your protection ends now. If you remain past sunrise tomorrow, you'll be hunted."
The words echoed like a blade through bone.
Cassian didn't speak.
Not once.
Wren looked at him. Waited for something—regret, rage, anything.
But he only stared, stone-faced, as though burying the version of her he'd once wanted.
"I understand," she said softly. "But you'll regret it."
And with that, she turned her back on them all.
Veylan found her at the edge of the ancient border, where witchland met wolfland. He didn't speak. Just stood beside her as she stared at the sky, lips bloodless from the cold.
"They're afraid," he said finally.
"They should be."
His gaze flicked to her face. "You're not broken."
"No," she whispered. "I'm free."
He said nothing. But something in him softened.
Over the following weeks, Wren became more than myth.
She moved into the abandoned forest shrine on the ridge. Alone, except for the occasional raven, the distant howls that sometimes sounded like mourning. She built wards stronger than stone. She grew herbs in moonlight and whispered spells that shook tree roots from sleep.
And she trained.
Veylan taught her shadow-walking—moving through the folds of night unseen. He pushed her until her blood sang. She danced with fire, played chess with spirits, drank starflower tonic that gave her visions of battles yet to come.
And still, she wasn't lonely.
Not truly.
Until the dream.
It came three weeks after her exile.
A shadowy figure stood on the battlefield—a creature of teeth and rot, crowned in thorns, hands dripping with the black ichor of cursed magic. Wolves lay broken at his feet. Witches burned in cages of silver flame.
In the dream, Wren stood between him and the dying Pack.
Veylan lay crumpled nearby, chest rising only faintly.
Cassian crawled toward her, bleeding, whispering her name like a prayer long forgotten.
When she woke, she couldn't breathe.
"I saw something," she told Veylan the next day, voice hoarse.
He was quiet a moment too long. "You're not the only one."
He led her deeper into the ruins beneath the forest. To a hidden altar lit by flame that did not burn. There, carved into the stone, was a prophecy she could not unsee:
"When the Bonefire burns black, and the howls fall silent,
A Witch born of fire and night
Shall rise
With death at her side
To break the Devourer's spine."
Wren looked at him. "The Devourer?"
"A warlock once banished to the void," Veylan said. "But he's stirring. Feeding. Corrupting both witch and wolf bloodlines."
She inhaled sharply. "Then we need allies."
He raised a brow. "You mean the Pack that just exiled you?"
Her voice didn't shake. "Yes."
He smiled faintly. "Then it begins."
The next night, Wren returned to Hollow Glen—not as a witch seeking mercy, but as a force of nature.
She stepped over the border line at midnight. Magic coiled at her heels. Her eyes glowed like mercury. And when the patrol wolves surrounded her, she didn't lift a finger.
"I need to speak to your Alpha," she said. "It's life or death."
Cassian was already waiting when she reached the central circle. His shoulders were taut. His eyes rimmed in shadows.
"You have nerve," he said, voice low.
"No," she replied. "I have news. A war is coming."
He laughed—bitter, hollow. "From your new pet demon?"
She didn't rise to the bait. "From visions. From prophecies older than your bloodline. From truth."
"Truth?" he spat. "You left us. You consorted with something monstrous. And now you want us to believe you?"
"I was one of you," she snapped. "And I would still fight for you."
His jaw clenched. "Why?"
Wren's eyes softened. "Because I don't want to watch you die."
Cassian stared at her. For a moment, his anger wavered. But the wall didn't fall.
"You should go," he said.
She hesitated. "This isn't about us anymore."
And still, he said nothing.
So she turned to leave. Again.
But this time, he watched her go with something like fear in his eyes.
Later that night, when the wolves returned to their patrols, one figure remained on the border line.
Cassian.
He watched the forest she disappeared into.
And he didn't realize that in the shadows above, Veylan stood on a high branch, watching him in return.
His eyes glinted with something ancient.
And maybe… possessive.