POV: Soraya
The announcement spread through the fortress like wildfire—fast, hungry, unstoppable.
At first it was only murmurs drifting through corridors, scraps of conversation overheard between servants carrying baskets or warriors sharpening blades. Then the bells rang. Heavy, deep, echoing through stone and bone. Not alarm bells. War bells. The sound twisted the air itself.
By the time I stepped out of my chamber, the entire fortress seemed to be moving.
Wolves rushed past carrying crates of weapons. Armor glinted in the morning sun. Horses stomped in the courtyard, restless under their saddles. The air smelled of metal and fear.
“Storm girl!” Vienne appeared at my side, practically jogging. “Don’t wander alone, everyone is—”
She stopped when she noticed my expression.
“What happened?” I asked.
“It’s official,” she said grimly. “Raevan announced it an hour ago.”
“Announced what?”
“War preparations. Zarek is mobilizing forces. A raid at minimum. Maybe a full breach.”
The world tilted beneath my feet for a moment. The word raid hit like a stone to the chest.
“Because of me,” I whispered.
Vienne grimaced. “Because Zarek is a tyrant. Don’t twist it.”
But I could already feel it—eyes on me from every corner of the courtyard. Whispering against my skin like sand carried by wind.
She brought this here.
The Zehrael girl is cursed.
If she weren’t here, Ashra would be safe.
No one said it loud enough to be confronted. But they didn’t need to. The looks were enough. Sharp. Suspicious. Fearful.
I forced myself to breathe slowly. “Where is Raevan?”
“Probably in the war hall,” Vienne said. “Every elder and commander is demanding answers.”
Of course they were. Because a storm was coming—and its name was Zarek.
We weaved through the chaos, pushing past crates, weapons, messengers, nervous wolves trying to look brave. My heart pounded harder with each step.
When we reached the central hall, the noise hit like a wave.
Voices clashed. Chairs scraped. Someone shouted an insult. Someone else slammed their fist on the table.
At the head of the room stood Raevan.
He didn’t shout. He didn’t move. He simply watched the chaos with an expression carved from ice and a jaw sharp enough to cut stone. His presence filled the hall, heavy and electric.
Kaide stood beside him, arms crossed, expression dark.
Azhara lingered near the elders, her posture weakened and delicate, a perfect picture of the wronged, fragile betrothed. She kept glancing at me as though waiting for me to break.
I refused.
From the corner of the room, an elder rose. “Alpha Raevan, you claim Zarek is preparing for war—but your source is a spy captured on our soil.”
“A spy who survived interrogation,” someone else snapped. “Why should we trust anything he said?”
“Because he told us what Zarek was already planning,” Raevan responded, voice steady. “A retrieval. Not just an attack.”
His eyes flicked to me for the briefest heartbeat.
And the room erupted again.
“So the girl truly is cursed—”
“Zehrael blood brings nothing but chaos—”
“If she stays, we may lose half our warriors—”
“Enough.” Raevan’s command cracked like thunder.
Silence slammed into the hall.
He took one step forward, radiating such authority the air thickened. “Zarek wants Soraya. He sent assassins after her. He will come for her again. That is not her fault—it is his greed.”
The elders exchanged uneasy looks.
But even with Raevan’s defense, I could feel the current in the room turning against me. Azhara’s influence among them was strong. Her soft, trembling breaths. Her “injuries.” Her careful, manipulated pity.
And my transformation in the alley… that only fed their fears.
I swallowed. My own voice was shaky when I spoke. “If I leave… would it stop him?”
Raevan’s head snapped toward me, eyes burning. “You will not leave.”
A murmur went through the room.
I held his gaze, ignoring how it made my pulse jump. “If Zarek wants me—”
“What Zarek wants is power,” Raevan cut in sharply. “And he’ll take it from anywhere he can reach. If you leave Ashra, you’ll die. And he won’t stop with you.”
I glanced down. My fists trembled.
Kaide stepped forward, voice controlled but firm. “Zarek sees Soraya the way he sees every resource he’s stolen. As something to own. If we surrender her, we surrender every wolf with uncommon power. Zarek will think he can claim them all.”
Another elder exhaled shakily. “What if the people revolt? They already distrust her.”
“Then I’ll deal with them,” Raevan said. “She stays.”
Elders whispered. Azhara pressed a trembling hand to her chest, playing the victim yet again. I watched her eyes—soft, lowered, glimmering with sadness she didn’t feel. She placed herself at the center of every sympathetic glance.
And the room kept tilting against me.
Vienne grabbed my arm gently. “Soraya… don’t listen. They’re scared of war, not of you.”
But her words fell hollow. Because as the elders argued again and Raevan’s voice rose above them all, I realized something sharp and painful:
No matter what I did—train, learn, fight, bleed, survive—Ashra would never truly welcome me.
Not while Zarek wanted me. Not while Azhara hated me. Not while I carried the Zehrael blood burning under my skin.
I stepped back, breath thinning. The hall was too loud, too crowded, too full of hostility aimed like arrows.
Vienne noticed immediately. “Soraya—”
“I just need air,” I whispered.
She opened her mouth to protest, but I slipped into the corridor before anyone else could catch my retreat.
The hall’s doors shut behind me with a dull echo.
Silence crashed over me. But it wasn’t peaceful.
Outside, the wind howled along the high walls, sweeping dust into spirals. Warriors rushed past, clutching spears and sand-cloaks. They barely looked at me. Some stepped wide. Some stared too long.
A child standing near the well pointed at me and whispered to his mother.
She tugged him away sharply. My throat tightened.
Around me, Ashra moved like one organism preparing for battle—shields being strapped, wards carved into stone, scouts sent out on fresh horses. But all of it felt distant, muted. Because beneath the surface of every hurried footstep and tense whisper, I could hear the unspoken truth:
This is happening because of her.
The storm gathering at our border had my name carved into its spine.
Raevan would never say it. Kaide would never utter it. Vienne would choke before admitting it.
But the pack? The pack knew who Zarek wanted.
And they knew who the dread wolf was ready to wage war to protect.
Somewhere deep in the fortress, a horn sounded—the signal for strategy council.
Another step toward war. A war for me.
I leaned against the cold stone wall, eyes stinging.
“I never asked for this,” I whispered to the empty corridor.
But the wind didn’t care. The pack didn’t care. And the storm approaching certainly didn’t care.
It would come anyway.