The world was no longer a collection of territories, borders, or maps. It was a
pulse. A singular, gargantuan heartbeat that vibrated through the soles of my
feet with the force of a thousand earthquakes.
I stood upon the highest ridge of what had once been the Obsidian Peak, but as
the stone fell away in great, tectonic slabs of jagged glass, I realized I was
not standing on rock. I was standing on fur. Beneath me, the surface of the
mountain had softened into a vast, undulating landscape of shimmering grey-gold
bristles, each as thick as a pine tree. The canyons were now deep, weathered
scars; the waterfalls were the beads of sweat from a primordial hide; and the
air itself carried the heavy, intoxicating musk of a creature that had been
sleeping since the first moon was a mere spark in the dark.
The Obsidian Peak was gone. The Primal Wolf had hatched.
I looked down at my hands. The Obsidian Key mark on my palm was glowing with a
