Chapter 145: The Frozen Echoes
The morning after the "First Dawn Unleashed" brought a cold, unnatural stillness to the pack house. The sun rose, but its light felt pale compared to the radiance that had erupted from the Omega the night before. In the center of the scorched courtyard, the three blue crystals left by the Sovereigns sat embedded in the cracked stone, pulsing with a faint, rhythmic hum.
The Alpha stood over them, his cloak billowing in the mountain wind. He could feel the frost radiating from the gems, a cold so intense it made his skin crawl. Every time he stepped closer, his inner wolf snarled—not in aggression, but in a primitive, instinctive warning.
"They aren't just stones," the Omega said, walking up beside him. Her face was pale, and dark circles shadowed her eyes, but the power in her gaze had not dimmed. "They are echoes. Fragments of the Sovereigns' memories and the ancient cold of the peaks."
The Alpha reached down, his fingers hovering just inches above the central crystal. "If we leave them here, they will act as a beacon for every other shadow in the Forbidden Woods. If we destroy them, we might lose the only chance we have to understand what the Old Blood is truly planning."
"Let me," she whispered.
As she touched the crystal, the world around them vanished. For a split second, they weren't in the pack house; they were standing on a ledge of pure ice, looking down at an army of shadows that stretched as far as the eye could see. Millions of glowing amber eyes looked up at them, and in the center of that darkness sat a throne made of silver and bone. The true King of the Old Blood was waiting.
The vision snapped, and the Omega fell back into the Alpha's arms. The blue crystal had turned a dull, lifeless grey, its energy spent. But the message was clear. The Sovereigns were merely the vanguard. The "First Dawn" hadn't just saved the pack—it had declared war on an ancient empire that had been waiting in the dark for ten thousand years.
The Alpha looked at his warriors, who were watching them with a mixture of awe and terror. "Fortify the walls," he commanded, his voice echoing with a new, grim authority. "The storm isn't over. It's just finding its way home."