DEREK
The clay felt cool in my palm—damp, smooth, still soft enough to shape but beginning to dry around the edges. It had been warming by the Bondfire for hours, waiting for hands like mine. And yet… I had no idea what to carve.
The priestess who gave it to me said nothing. Just handed me the blank token and nodded. A tradition. A prayer. A promise.
I turned it over slowly between my fingers, walking a few paces away from the crowd. Around me, couples laughed and clung to each other. Wolves shifted under starlight, dancing, drinking, sharing meat and bread beneath paper lanterns strung through the trees. It was a night for wishes.
For blessings.
And mine felt heavier than the fire could carry.
I crouched near a stone bench and pressed the tip of my thumbnail into the center of the c
