CHAPTER TWELVE: A Heart Divided
The morning after Mount Varas bled quiet and strange. Like the world itself was holding its breath.
I sat by the open window of the manor’s west wing, watching mist roll across the courtyard, trying to convince myself that things were normal.
They weren’t.
Nothing had been normal since the day Killian Velasquez spared my life.
Nothing had been the same since I touched the Fang of Origin.
The relic now sat locked beneath the manor, sealed in silver wards and iron circles. But its power still whispered to me—calling, humming, vibrating under my skin like a second pulse. Sometimes I thought I could hear it speak. Not in words, exactly… but in instinct. Memory. Hunger.
And ever since I touched it, my dreams had changed.
They were no longer just memories.
