The moment the Soulbind bearer left the village square, something in Karl refused to settle.
Even after the council's cryptic silence.
Even after Mira tried to joke the tension away.
Even after night fell across Asterwall like a curtain drawn too fast.
The mark on his chest hadn't pulsed again…
But it hadn't disappeared either.
It had gone quiet — like it was waiting for something.
Karl moved through the fog-wrapped trees just past the training grounds. His steps were soft, careful, as though not to wake something ancient beneath the roots.
He didn't know where he was going.
Only that something was guiding him.
The woods had changed.
No insects. No rustling. No night sounds at all.
Just silence.
Thick. Intentional.
His fingers hovered over his chest — over the mark shaped like wings.
It didn't burn. It didn't hum.
But it listened.
A sound.
Soft. Subtle. Real.
A branch shifted somewhere behind him — not broken, just moved, like something big brushing past.
He turned sharply.
Nothing.
But then…
There — between the trees.
A flash of movement. Low and fast.
Broad shoulders, curved ears, sleek frame.
Too large for a normal wolf.
Too silent to be wild.
And the mist it left behind shimmered with a faint frostlight.
Karl stood frozen.
The mark on his chest throbbed — once.
Not in warning…
But in recognition.
Whatever that was… it had seen him.
And somehow, it already knew his name.