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Seren stumbled more than once, her arms yanked roughly into line by the guards who flanked her.

They did not consider her smaller frame, jostling her forward with muttered threats and rough, jerking hands.

Her breath came quick and shallow, every inhale sharp as they pressed deeper into the cave system.

The path wound downward at first, then levelled into a broad, open corridor carved by time. Bioluminescent moss clung to the walls, casting the stone in an eerie green-blue glow. Water dripped from unseen crevices, each splash echoing off the walls.

The light of the torch held by one of the guards passed through the stalactites leading to a spray of illumination on the horror congregating along the walls of the cave. Seren did not notice the still forms until the light fell on a still face.

Lining the cave walls in silent formation stood—wolves, or what was left of them. Hundreds, maybe more. Their bodies were pale and too still, fur matted or patchy, skin stretched tight over broken bones that had once shattered and somehow... healed. Not properly. Not naturally.

Their eyes were milky, and unfocused, yet they followed her as they passed.

A shiver crawled up her spine.

Shifters never stood still...unless on the hunt. But this was more like the stillness of death .

A few peeled away from the wall and joined the group, padding jerkily at the rear of the procession, their movements having one of the natural grace that was inborn in all shifters.

Seren caught faint sounds—shifting claws on stone, soft huffs of air—but no emotion. No instinct. Just... something hollow.

She tried to reach for them, the way she would with any animal. But it was like looking into an abyss. There were only faint, broken echoes like a thousand trapped voices crying out beneath ice.

Help ... let us go ... set me free .. it hurts

She stumbled again, and one of the guards shoved her hard.

Lilja glanced back only once. Her voice was breezy. "Revenants," she said. "Those we couldn't turn... we killed. And then we resurrected."

Seren felt sour bile rise in her throat. "Why are you doing this?"

Lilja's smile barely flickered. "All in good time, little witchling. You'll understand soon enough. You don't know how long I have waited for this moment. You, my precious, you are the final piece ."

The tunnel sloped upward. The light ahead was pale and cold, seeping in like frost through the crack of a sealed window. They stepped out onto forest soil—and the breath caught in Seren's throat.

The trees were black .

Once proud pines and birches now stood as charred skeletons, their branches like burnt fingers reaching for a sky that had long since turned to ash.

No birds sang. No wind stirred. The forest was silent—unnaturally so.

Not the peace of stillness, but the pressure of absence. A void where life had once been.

Even the air smelled wrong—dry and sharp, with an undertone of rot and something older, sour and burnt.

The forest floor was covered in a layer of grey soot. Nothing grew. No moss, no ferns. No fallen pinecones. It was as though death had swept across the clearing and left it frozen in its wake.

They crested a low ridge, and the township unfolded below them.

Smaller than Vargrheim. Narrower paths. Fewer buildings.

But what struck her was the silence.

No pups ran in half-shifted forms, chasing each other through alleyways. No birds chirped. No squirrels skittered across the rooftops. There was no scent of cooking, no clatter of training gear, no rhythmic pounding of running feet.

The trees around the clearing were bare, grey fingers clawing at a white sky.

Eyes peered at her from behind closed shutters—small, frightened.

A hand pulled one child in quickly before the wooden slat clicked shut with a soft snick.

They moved through it in silence, the guards unbothered.

Seren caught glimpses—more eyes watching from within the dark, small faces behind shuttered windows of buildings that leaned with rot and age.

One tiny pair of hands was quickly pulled away from a window. A door closed with a soft click.

And they pressed on, deeper into the bones of Starnheim.

Into the long shadow Lilja called home.

Even the longhouse was different.

Built from blackened stone, it loomed like a mausoleum. Its fireplace was long dead, dark soot trailing up the chimney like a wound. To one side, Seren caught a pile of what she first thought were animal bones—until she saw a hound gnawing on a charred femur. And beside it, a skull.

Human.

Her knees weakened, but they shoved her forward.

They led her around the back, to a staircase that descended into the earth.

The stone corridor was lined with thick, rusting iron doors.

Small eyeholes had been scratched out of each one, and from within came the sound of moaning.

Screams. Begging. Wet sobs. The air was thick with the coppery sting of blood and the stench of mildew and unwashed skin.

They dragged her to the last door and flung it open .

The room was small. Stone walls. A low table. Chains hanging unused from the far corner. They shoved her in. She landed hard on her knees.

Lilja entered moments later, her gait unnaturally smooth like she was floating. Highclaw Steine followed behind her—hulking, silent.

The door slammed shut with a metallic finality.

Lilja stared at Seren for a long moment before striking a match and lighting a lamp. The flame bloomed golden, flickering shadows up the wall.

"Little witchling," she said at last, her voice syrupy. "You must have questions."

Seren remained on the floor, chest rising and falling fast.

"You're a pretty little thing," Lilja continued, pacing lazily. "But not as pretty as me, wouldn't you say, my love?"

Steine grunted. His eyes were unfocused, lost in some place behind the present.

Lilja smiled. "He's not much for words. This realm... his mouth struggles here."

Seren swallowed. She asked in a small voice. "Are you going to kill me?"