Chapter 54. The Wolf Queen

Serana’s dark eyes never wavered, twin coals at the heart of a gathering storm. Aeryn returned that gaze without flinching, her chest tight with restrained power. Around them, the ring of ash glowed with a faint, sickly wyrdlight—no brilliant blaze but a razor gleam, as though the circle itself were the edge of some world‐old secret about to crack open. The heavy air tasted of cold iron and dust; every breath felt like inhaling centuries of silence. Dust motes drifted like silent witnesses in the torchlight, caught between past and present. Behind Aeryn, Ryker’s knuckles whitened on the haft of his blade, every vein in his forearm standing proud. Thorne’s hand hovered over the iron‐etched sigil at his waist, fingers flexing in silent anticipation. Sera—the little oracle, robed in tattered finery—stood trembling at the edge, her wide eyes reflecting both fear and awe.

Sera took a single, deliberate step forward, the hem of her robes whispering against broken stone. Aeryn raised