THE HEART OF THE RIFT
The rift did not sleep.
Even as dawn crept cautiously over the forest, pale light filtering through twisted branches and mist-heavy air, the southern ridge pulsed like an open wound. Shadows breathed within it—slow, deliberate, alive. The ground around it was scorched black and silver, cracked as though reality itself had been peeled back and left exposed.
Lykos stood at the ridge’s edge, feet planted firmly against the trembling earth. The Alpha’s silver eyes reflected the rift’s shifting depths, his jaw set in grim focus. He could feel it now more clearly than ever—not just shadow, not just corruption, but intelligence. The rift was no longer merely a doorway.
It was a conduit.
Behind him, Aria approached, her silver fire subdued but steady, glowing faintly ben
