POV: Raevan
Zehrael appears first as a shimmer on the horizon—an illusion of mirage light dancing above dunes. But the closer we ride, the more the world changes.
Not physically. Not in any way a map could capture.
It is the air.
The vibration beneath the sand.
A pulse of energy humming under our horses’ hooves as if the desert itself recognizes who approaches… and who waits at the center of it.
Soraya. I haven’t said her name aloud since we left Ashra.
But it echoes in my mind with every breath.
Kaide rides to my right, silent but alert. Vienne is behind us, wide-eyed, studying every strange glimmer. Tazir keeps muttering curses like prayers.
“Are those dunes glowing?” he asks for the third time.
“They’re moving,” Vienne whispers. “Not with the wind… with something else.”
She’s right. The sand shifts in slow spirals, as if stirred by invisible magic. This land is alive. And it feels… ancient.
I don’t say any of this.
I keep my face neutral, posture straight, riding like an Alpha on official visit instead of a man whose soul is fraying at the edges.
But inside? I’m raging.
Burning. Barely holding myself from shifting and sprinting across the desert until I find her.
***
When the Zehrael gates appear, even Kaide stops breathing.
Massive obsidian pillars rise out of white sand like spears piercing the sky. Runes glow along their sides—silver, blue, violet—spelling magic older than Ashra’s entire history.
The gates open before we reach them.
Not by guards. Not by chains. By will, command, power.
Vienne gasps as the ancient doors part with a low, echoing hum, revealing a city of light woven into the desert.
Domed structures shimmer like moonstone. Bridges of glass stretch between cliffs. Faint silver fog curls along the streets, carrying the scent of night blooms even though the sun is at its peak.
Kaide swallows hard. “It’s… beautiful.”
“It’s unsettling,” Tazir mutters. “Like walking into a dream I’m not supposed to see.”
He’s not wrong. Zehrael feels dangerous—not because of its people, but because of its power.
And then figures appear. Tall. Elegant. Markings on their skin like pale constellations. Every one of them a wolf of ancient bloodline.
Zehrael. The lost clan. The myth. Alive.
My horse stiffens beneath me as they approach, but they do not bare teeth or draw weapons. Instead, they bow their heads slightly.
Deference. Not to me. To the purpose of my visit. To Soraya.
My pulse stumbles. Then the Alpha approaches.
Baltimus.
Tall, silver-haired, powerful in a way that radiates calm and danger in equal measure. His wolf lurks behind his eyes—steady, patient, absolute.
He walks toward us with the ease of a man who fears nothing in this world. And when he stops before me, the runes on the gate flicker in response.
“Raevan of Ashra,” he says evenly. “Welcome to Zehrael territory.”
His voice is smooth, deep, deceptively polite. Everything in me bristles at once.
“Baltimus,” I greet, jaw tight. “Thank you for receiving us.”
Kaide nods respectfully. Vienne bows. Tazir tries not to stare at the glowing tattoos on Baltimus’s arms.
“You traveled far,” Baltimus says. “Your presence honors our land.”
Those words would sound courteous from anyone else. From him, they sound like a sword laid gently across the throat.
And then, something shifts in his expression. Softens.
“You are here because of her,” he says, voice lowering.
My breath sticks. “Soraya is… your Luna.”
“She is,” he confirms. No pride. No threat. Just truth. “And she lives in peace under our protection.”
Peace.
The word burns through me.
Baltimus watches my reaction with quiet understanding. Too much understanding.
“She knows you are coming,” he adds. “And she chose to allow it.”
My heart slams once. Hard.
“She chose?” I echo.
“She is free. She chooses everything.”
A flicker of something dark moves through me, but I keep my voice measured. “We are grateful for her permission.”
Baltimus tilts his head slightly. “Then come. Zehrael welcomes you as long as your intentions remain respectful.”
Respectful.
Another blade disguised as courtesy.
Kaide clears his throat. “We will honor your customs.”
Baltimus nods. “Good.”
He turns, leading us through the gates. The streets part for him, glowing faintly under his steps. His wolves follow, silent shadows with moonlit eyes. And every one of them watches me. Not with threat—with calculation.
Because they know. Because they can feel it.
Because even after a year—Soraya’s scent still lives in my bones.
We’re led toward a high terrace overlooking the entire Zehrael city.
Moon-glass fountains ripple with floating lights. Veiled priestesses chant in low harmony. It feels like stepping into the spirit realm of the desert itself.
And somewhere here…
Soraya walks. Breathes. Lives.
Every instinct in me strains toward her. But Baltimus stops before the main palace steps and turns toward us.
“You may stay here for as long as Soraya allows,” he says. “You are her guests.”
His eyes narrow ever so slightly.
“And here… a guest is sacred.”
The unspoken warning is clear:
Do not hurt her. Do not take from her. Do not break her peace. I incline my head. “We came only for diplomacy.”
And something else. Something I will not say aloud.
“Very well,” Baltimus replies. “Then the desert welcomes you.”
He gestures toward the palace entrance.
“You may see her when she is ready.”
My lungs tighten. My pulse roars. Ready. Not now. Not for me.
Kaide mutters under his breath, “This place is going to kill you before Zarek does.”
He might be right.
Because now that I’m here—now that I can feel Soraya’s presence somewhere inside these glowing walls—I realize something worse than longing.
Worse than jealousy. Worse than the ache tearing me in half.
She belongs here. Among her people. In her true home.
And I am an intruder.
“Raevan,” Vienne whispers gently. “We’ll see her soon.”
I nod once.
Soon isn’t soon enough. Not after a year of living without her.