The chamber held its breath.
As if the very stone knew it bore witness to history reawakening.
The wolves that surrounded Caleb and the others were not spirits. Not illusions. They were real — worn by time, hardened by survival, and cloaked in the scent of deep earth and distant memories. Their eyes shone with something ancient. Not just life. Purpose.
The leader stepped closer. His armor shifted like living bark, each movement crackling softly. Strapped across his back was a staff carved from a silver branch — the same wood as the floating tree behind him.
"I am Malrik," he said, his voice rough as gravel. "Last of the Foldbound High Circle. And First Woken of the Song."
Caleb stood tall, tension radiating from every line of his body. "You're supposed to be dead. The Foldbound Circle fell during the Second Sundering. My father told me the stories."
Malrik gave a grim smile. "The world remembers what it can stomach. The rest, it buries."
His gaze moved over the group, resting briefly on Ash. "But now… the earth stirs again. The spark has returned. And the Song—it begins to echo."
Ash blinked. "The Song?"
Elias stepped forward, his voice cautious. "The Song of the First Howl. The primal force that shaped early wolves and beings beyond this realm. It was said to be sealed within the Fold when the Elders bound it. Are you saying… it survived?"
Malrik's eyes gleamed. "Not only survived. It waited."
He turned and began walking around the silver tree, motioning for them to follow. "Let me show you what your history has forgotten."
⸻
The chamber deepened beyond the tree into vast galleries carved into the stone—etched murals, faintly glowing with a bioluminescent sheen. Each told a part of the world's forgotten past. Caleb and Lena moved slowly, absorbing the images.
A spiral sun. Wolves with eyes like stars. Creatures that did not walk, but sang their way into reality.
The first panel showed a woman wrapped in moonlight, her arms lifted toward a starless sky. Her voice was drawn as silver thread unfurling into constellations.
Ash stopped. "That's her."
"The First Howl," Elias murmured.
Malrik nodded. "She wove the first breath of life into the wilderness. Her song shaped rivers, tamed storms, taught the wind to dance. But creation does not come without cost."
He gestured to the next mural — the same woman, now weeping. Her voice, fractured. Around her, shadows gathered.
"The others came from the Wound. Jealous of her gift. They twisted the echoes. Made new creatures from broken notes — predators, parasites. The Hollow was just one fragment of their art."
"And the Fold?" Lena asked quietly.
"A prison." Malrik's voice hardened. "One she crafted herself. She bound her own kind—the corrupted, the fallen—beneath the world. She believed time would heal the wound. That the song would sleep until it was needed again."
"And now?" Caleb asked.
Malrik turned, his eyes dark. "Now it begins to stir. Because something above has begun to call it back."
⸻
They were led to an inner sanctum carved directly into the mountain's heart.
Within it was a pool of still water, black as ink. Floating in its center was a single shard of glowing crystal—no larger than a fang.
"The first seed," Malrik said. "One of five. Anchors that bind the Fold closed. If they are shattered… the Song returns unbound."
Ash stared at it, mesmerized.
"I've seen this before. In dreams. But… the others?"
"They are scattered," Malrik said. "One lies beneath the frost-wastes of Volshar. Another beneath the drowned vaults of the Hollow Coast. A third was taken by the Moon-Touched. The last…" He hesitated. "We believed it lost."
Elias frowned. "And if they're gathered?"
"The gate opens. The Fold tears. The First Song returns—and the world reshapes. Or burns."
⸻
Lena turned toward Malrik. "Then who's trying to gather them?"
Malrik looked directly at Ash.
"Not who. What."
Ash stepped back. "No… I destroyed the Hollow."
"You destroyed its vessel," Malrik corrected. "But the melody remains. Inside you."
Ash trembled. "Then what do I do?"
Malrik walked to him and knelt, placing a firm hand over Ash's heart.
"You choose."
"The Fold sings through you, but so does the Song. Both are tools. One builds. One devours."
Caleb stepped in, protective. "And if he can't choose?"
"Then others will choose for him. And the world will suffer."
⸻
Night came. Camp was made in a quiet corner of the Woken's sanctum, under glowing moss and warm stone. Caleb sat apart, watching Lena sharpen her twin daggers.
"You trust them?" he asked.
She didn't stop moving. "I trust that they believe what they're saying. That's enough for now."
"And Ash?"
She hesitated.
"He's stronger than I thought," she said at last. "But power doesn't mean control. If he tips too far—"
"I won't let that happen."
She looked up at him. "You may not have a choice."
⸻
Ash sat with Elias, sketching symbols in the dirt.
"Why me?" Ash asked, voice small.
Elias exhaled. "Some people are chosen. Others… are made by circumstance."
Ash's fingers curled. "I didn't ask for this."
"No," Elias agreed. "But you're the only one who can carry it now."
Suddenly, the air shifted. A low hum echoed from the crystal pool.
Malrik appeared at the mouth of the sanctum, eyes wide.
"The first seal is weakening."
Caleb stood instantly. "What does that mean?"
Malrik looked toward the surface. "It means we are not alone."
⸻
The mountain trembled.
Stone dust rained from the ceiling. A sound like a choked scream tore through the walls—followed by an explosion of wind and shadow.
Ronan barked, "Defensive line!"
Foldborn dropped from the ceiling like spiders, eyes glowing, limbs too long. But these were not the same feral creatures as before. They wore armor now. Glyphs burned into their skin.
Ash's voice caught in his throat. "They're changing."
Elias shouted, "They've been exposed to the Song. They're evolving!"
Caleb drew both blades. "Then we kill them before they learn too much."
The battle erupted in chaos.
⸻
Lena vanished into shadow, reappearing behind one of the creatures and driving a dagger into its spine. Caleb moved like lightning, slicing through two more with twin arcs of silver steel. Elias began chanting in an old tongue, glyphs forming in the air around him, bursting with fire and sound.
Ash stood frozen. The Foldborn weren't attacking him. They were bowing.
Then one spoke.
"You are the Echo-Bearer."
Ash staggered. "I'm not one of you."
"No. You are more."
The creature reached toward him. "The Spark is ready."
The shard in the pool began to pulse.
Caleb saw it too late.
"Ash! Don't—!"
But the light exploded.
⸻
Ash screamed.
His body lifted into the air, surrounded by glowing symbols. His eyes burned gold, then black, then something in between. Everyone was knocked back by a shockwave of sound that carried no noise—but memory.
When Caleb opened his eyes, the chamber was still.
Ash stood in the center.
Changed.
His skin shimmered faintly with lines of silver. His eyes held galaxies.
Malrik whispered, "He has awakened the Second Thread."
Lena moved slowly toward him. "Ash? Are you… still you?"
Ash blinked. For a moment, nothing. Then he nodded.
"I remember."
He looked around. "The gate is opening. Somewhere above us. The next shard is no longer guarded."
Caleb's voice was hoarse. "Then we move."
⸻
As they prepared to leave, Malrik pulled Caleb aside.
"There's something else."
Caleb didn't like his tone. "What?"
"The Fifth Shard. The lost one."
Caleb's blood ran cold. "Where?"
Malrik's eyes were dark.
"In Blackridge."
Caleb froze.
"In the ruins beneath your ancestral hall."