The cavern shuddered.
A stifling veil of bone dust fell, clattering like hail against the unending white stone. Elaria's supporting pillar moaned, cracks separating its back. Blood slicked her flesh as her wrists burnt raw against the bindings, but her eyes blazed brighter than her suffering.
She had chosen. She had spoken his name. And Draven had heard.
The robed figure stumbled backward one step, his expression twisted in a snarl as his shadow-slicked visage lost his poise.
"This isn't feasible," he growled. Instead of being smooth and serene, his voice had become rough and ragged. “No wolf has ever pierced the Gate’s binding.”
But the cavern trembled again—this time not with decay, but with fury. The sound was not stone breaking, but claws raking through the very fabric of the r
