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TWENTY-NINE

KAEL

K ael smelled the smoke before they reached the citadel.

And then he saw it.

House Fenrir, carved from stone and pride and history, rising like a broken god against the grey sky—its eastern wing collapsed inward, the great ironwood gates scorched and shattered.

His heart stopped.

Selene pulled her horse up beside him, wide-eyed and silent. Her cloak snapped in the wind, ash flecking the fabric like snow.

The veil of mist that had once made this mountain fortress invisible shimmered in patches, failing to reassert its grip. Magic was bleeding from the stones. The wards were fractured.

And from within, screams echoed.

Kael kicked his horse into motion.

The main courtyard was chaos.

Soldiers clashed steel against men in red armor bearing a mark Kael had never seen in person but had memorized from enemy scrolls: a flame surrounded by thorns.

The Rising Flame.

Humans. Armed with stolen shifter-forged weapons, doused in oils laced with Veil residue—meant to hurt wolves. Meant to poison their blood and null their senses.

Kael’s blade was out before he hit the ground.

He tore through the first two in a blur of teeth and fury, blade biting deep into ribs and thigh. Blood soaked the flagstones before they could scream.

Selene hit the ground behind him, magic already coiling around her fingertips. She didn’t hesitate, her focus absolute. She had practiced feeling and honing her power on their trip home and as of now, that had been their only plan.

He couldn’t afford to watch her. Couldn’t afford to not watch her.

“FIND NYRA!” Kael shouted over the clash of steel. “GET TO THE INNER SANCTUM!”

A soldier tried to intercept him. Kael knocked the blade from the man’s hand with a growl and drove his elbow into the attacker’s jaw with a sickening crack. The man went down. They pushed through the melee. And Kael saw it all.

The eastern tower— gone. The great hall— burning. And no sign of his father. Not in the chaos. Not in the bodies. Only shadows and smoke.

“Kael!” Selene shouted as another soldier lunged behind him.

He turned just in time, catching the strike with his vambrace and driving his sword into the attacker’s throat.

He turned to her, panting. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, but he could see the edges of strain behind her eyes. The magic was draining her faster now. Stronger, yes—but volatile. Costly.

“We need to find your sister,” she said, breathless.

They found Nyra at the mouth of the war chamber, her face streaked with blood—not her own. Her blade was still dripping.

“I thought my warning was a way to keep you gone. You knew not to come back yet,” she growled at Kael.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “and I never fucking listen.”

She smirked, grim. “It’s bad. Worse than bad. They breached through the eastern ward tunnel. Someone inside had to give them the sequence.”

“Varyn?” Selene asked, already tightening her fists.

“Gone,” Nyra said. “Slipped out an hour before the breach.”

Kael growled. “Fucking knew it.”

Nyra gestured them into the chamber.

The table was scattered with crumpled scrolls and overturned maps. Strategic points had been slashed through. Blood was drying in a half-circle near the stairs.

“Where’s Ruarc?” Kael asked.

Nyra shook her head. “No one’s seen him. If he’s not dead, he’s run.”

The words landed like a blade between his ribs.

His father, once the legend of this court—vanished. No goodbye. No order. No spine. Kael looked around at the soldiers still fighting. The wounded still screaming. At Selene, who now stood half-lit with the flickering wardlight, eyes burning with fury and fire. And something inside him snapped.

“We hold this citadel,” he said, voice like iron. “If Varyn’s turned, he’ll answer for it. If Ruarc is dead, I will take the crest. And if the Rising Flame thinks they’ve broken us—” He stepped forward, placed his hand on the war table. “Then we bury them.”

Silence followed.

Nyra nodded once. Selene stepped to his side. And in the ruins of the fallen citadel, Kael Fenrir claimed the mountain—not as heir.

But as Alpha.