Chapter 9 – “When the Guardian is Called” Part One
1883 Words
Kieran P.O.V
For a long moment, I just stared at my arm.
The mark pulsed faintly beneath my skin, silver light beating in time with my heart, a crescent, whole and unbroken, shimmering as if alive. It hadn’t faded with waking like the dust on the pedestal. It hadn’t vanished like all the other dream fragments that slipped through my fingers.
It stayed.
Real.
Breathing with me.
Shade pressed up against the inside of my mind, more awake than I’d ever felt him in the waking world.
“You see it too,” he murmured. Not a question.
“Yes,” I breathed. “Hard to miss.”
The room was dim, shadows curling at the edges of the walls, the faint pre-dawn light only just pushing against the curtains. My sheets were tangled, sweat drying cold along my spine, but all my awareness funneled into the burning in my forearm.
I flexed my fingers.
The mark glowed brighter, then settled again, like it was… listening.
“Dreams don’t do this,” I muttered.
“They do when they’re not dreams anymore,” Shade replied. His tone wasn’t mocking. It was steady. Certain.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, breath still uneven. The floorboards were cool against my feet as I stood and crossed to the small mirror hanging on the wall. My reflection stared back: pale, tired, eyes too bright with leftover adrenaline. I’d seen myself exhausted before—after fights, patrols, battles.
This was different.
I looked like I’d just stepped out of a war I hadn’t technically been in.
“You felt it in there,” I said quietly, more to myself than anyone. “The whispers. The temple. That voice.”
Guardian… you are late.
It had called me that. Not by name. By role.
Guardian.
Shade’s presence sharpened.
We were claimed, he said. Marked. The Gate chose.
“Picked a fine time,” I muttered, rubbing a hand over my face.
The mark flared again, heat licking up my arm—not painful, but impossible to ignore. It wasn’t random. There was a rhythm to it. Almost like—
A knock came at my door.
Not loud. Two short taps. Familiar.
I exhaled. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Lucian stepped in, dressed in loose sweats and a black T-shirt, hair still damp from a shower. Alpha or not, he moved like a man who had never forgotten the weight of patrol and training.
His eyes flicked over me once, taking in the sweaty shirt, the tense stance, the way my hand hovered a little too close to my forearm.
“Dream again?” he asked. No judgment. Just a fact.
“Yeah,” I said hoarsely. “It… changed.”
He shut the door behind him and leaned back against it, arms crossed. “The moment it did, the pack link tugged. You spiked. Half the wolves within range felt a jolt. Shade nearly knocked into my head like a battering ram.”
Shade grumbled in the back of my mind, not bothering to deny it.
“Sorry,” I said. “Wasn’t exactly a gentle wake-up.”
Lucian’s gaze narrowed faintly. “Show me.”
For a second, I thought about playing dumb. Then I looked at my arm, still shimmering, and decided lying to my Alpha about the glowing magical brand I’d apparently brought home from a temple in the dream realm was probably not the smartest move.
I lifted my hand and turned my forearm toward him.
The room seemed to go even quieter.
The silver crescent gleamed beneath the skin, pure and whole. With each heartbeat, it brightened and dimmed in a steady, living rhythm.
Lucian didn’t curse. Didn’t flinch.
He stepped closer, eyes tracking every subtle pulse.
“That wasn’t there yesterday,” he said calmly.
“No,” I replied. “It was dust in the temple. Now it’s… here.”
We both watched it for a moment.
“It hasn’t faded?” he asked.
I shook my head. “If anything, it’s getting stronger.”
Lucian extended his hand, stopping just short of touching the mark. “Does it hurt?”
“Not exactly,” I said slowly. “It burns. But not like a cut. More like… like I stuck my arm into a river and the current’s trying to drag me with it.”
Shade hummed.
A pull, he said. Not away from us. Through us.
Lucian’s gaze flicked to mine, something knowing in it. “You told Elder Thane about the symbols in your dreams. The boundary sigils. The references to doors between realms.”
“Yeah.”
“And he told you they were tied to bloodlines,” Lucian continued. “To people born for this. Guardians. Keys.”
The word sat heavily between us.
Guardian.
Key.
I swallowed. “This wasn’t in any of the records we saw.”
“No,” Lucian agreed. “But not everything written survives. And not everything surviving was written down.”
Silence stretched for a heartbeat.
Then he straightened. “Get dressed properly. We’re going to see Thane.”
Elder Thane had already lit a lantern in his chambers by the time we arrived, though dawn still hovered faint on the horizon. He opened the door before Lucian could knock twice, like he had felt us approaching.
Maybe he had.
His sharp amber gaze went straight to my arm. “So,” he said softly, “it followed you.”
He stepped aside to let us in.
His room was orderly chaos—shelves of scrolls, stacks of old journals, maps pinned to the walls. A table in the center was already laid out with a few of the images I’d shown him before: rough sketches of crescent symbols, diagrams of overlapping territories, scribbled notes in his precise handwriting.
“Sit,” he said.
I took the nearest chair. Lucian leaned against a shelf, arms folded.
“Show me,” Thane said.
I rested my arm on the table, palm up.
The crescent glowed steadily.
Thane’s face didn’t go pale. Didn’t twist. But something in his shoulders tightened as he leaned closer.
“No corruption,” he muttered. “No fracture. No s***h. This is the original form.”
“So, it’s good?” I asked.
He smiled faintly. “Ancient forces don’t work in ‘good’ and ‘bad,’ Beta. They work in ‘aligned’ and ‘dangerous.’ Right now, you are aligned. That does not make you safe.”
Shade snorted. “Comforting.”
Thane glanced at Lucian. “You remember what we discussed in your grandfather’s time. The old text about the Guardian’s seal?”
Lucian’s jaw flexed. “Barely. I was a teenager. I thought it was a story.”
“Most of the pack did,” Thane said. He tapped softly near my mark without touching it. “This is what they were afraid of and waiting for at the same time.”
My pulse ticked faster. “You’re going to have to be more direct, Elder.”
He nodded. “The chronicles said that when the realms began to thin, the Gate would choose two bloodlines. One to stand as the Guardian—the shield. One to serve as the Key—the one who can open or control the passage.”
My chest tightened.
Dream forest.
Her arms.
Our son.
“I’ve seen them,” I said quietly. “In the dreams.”
Thane studied me for a long moment. “And now the Gate has left its mark on you. Guardian.”
The word hit differently when he said it.
Not like the whisper in the temple.
Like a verdict.
Thane leaned forward, fingers steepled, gaze sharp. “Marks like this don’t pick at random. They respond to balance, to threat, to movement between realms. Something shook the Gate hard enough to activate you.”
Shade rumbled.
The Key, he growled. She stirred.
My stomach clenched. “The dreams changed when her mark appeared.”
Thane nodded. “Then she is waking on her side too. The first stirrings are never gentle.”
My pulse skipped. “Is she… safe?”
He hesitated. And that told me everything.
Lucian stepped in. “Kieran, listen to me. We don’t know anything for sure. But if her mark appeared the same time yours did…”
“Then she’s in danger,” I said.
Lucian didn’t deny it.
Thane unfolded a roll of thick parchment from a nearby shelf. A map—old, ink faded, edges frayed. He smoothed it flat with reverence.
“This is from the last cycle,” he said. “When the Gate last stirred. There were reports—scattered, incomplete—of tremors in boundary lines. Pressure. Pull. The Guardian felt it first.”
He tapped the map’s northern edge.
“Here.”
My mark pulsed once, sharply, as if answering.
Thane’s eyes flicked up. “Interesting.”
“That’s one word,” I muttered.
Lucian leaned closer. “Patrol reports have been strange up there recently. Off patterns. Animals acting wrong. Tracks that don’t match any rogue activity.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this to me?” I asked.
Lucian shot me a look. “Kieran, we didn’t know this,” he said, gesturing at my arm. “We didn’t know you were tied to any of it.”
Shade growled. We should have known something.
Thane’s voice cut through the tension. “The point is: this mark isn’t passive. It will pull when the Key moves. It will tug when the Gate shifts. It will burn when corruption rises too close.”
As if on cue, the mark heated.
Not painfully.
Warning.
Lucian straightened. “What’s that?”
“The pull,” I breathed. “Same direction as before.”
Thane nodded slowly, eyes sharp. “Then she’s moving. Or the Gate is. Or both.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened. “We need to alert the patrols.”
“No,” Thane said firmly. “Not the whole pack. Not yet.”
“And why not?” Lucian asked.
Thane gestured at my arm. “Because the Guardian is the compass. If the pack floods the border blindly, they’ll drown in the noise. Let the mark speak first.”
Shade pressed against me, ears forward.
We should go. Soon.
I swallowed hard. “Lucian…”
He met my gaze. “I know.”
A beat.
“We’ll go.”
He turned toward the door, voice slipping into Alpha command—tight, controlled, steady.
“Gear up. Tell Caelan to meet us at the northern trail. Thane—bring anything we’ll need to identify boundary shifts.”
Thane nodded.
Lucian looked at me once more. “Kieran?”
“Yeah?”
“Stay steady,” he said quietly. “If this thing is waking up, it’s going to be looking for you.”
Shade lifted his head, anger curling hot down my spine.
Let it look. We won’t hide.
I exhaled once, slow and sharp. “Then let’s move.”
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