Arena master's pov
How is this possible?
What was that?
Wolves?
After the arena was swallowed by absolute darkness, a howl rose—raw, powerful, tangled with both pain and victory. One wolf howled so fiercely it felt like it tore straight through my mind. I felt it in the deepest part of my soul.
Then others followed.
No… they weren't as strong as that one. But they were howling nonetheless.
After eighteen years of silence…
Had they awakened?
If I hadn't sold my soul long ago—if not for the cursed talisman hanging around my neck—even my weakened wolf would have answered that call.
Soren?
No. It couldn't be him. I knew his wolf. And moments ago, he had nearly died under the witch's whip.
Then who?
The scent…
It vanished as suddenly as it appeared.
Among blood, smoke, and fear—why did that smell pull me in so strongly?
Fresh spring flowers.
My thoughts shattered under the screams.
As the arena slowly lit up with the witches' artificial glow, chaos spread everywhere. People were fleeing in terror. From the cracked stones, spirits began to seep out—
and I could feel their hatred.
Their rage.
All of it aimed at me.
Who did this?
The Witch Queen was already gone.
Her throne stood empty.
Soren was still lying on the ground.
My eyes scanned the arena.
It had to be a witch—but which one would dare such treason, knowing the Queen would claim her soul?
Then I saw them.
At the far edge of the arena—
burning yellow eyes, like fire devouring the dark.
A thin girl, barely standing, swaying as if the world itself rejected her.
The scent hit me again—wild orchid and amber.
It burned my throat.
My wolf—
let out a soft, almost tender whine.
I froze.
That was impossible.
I ran toward her, barking orders as I passed the guards:
"Go home! No gatherings!
Anyone who steps into the arena without my summons will face the consequences!"
I kept my voice hard, steady—so no one would hear the unease clawing at my chest.
When I reached the place where the girl had stood…
She was gone.
⸻
Soren – POV
Darkness.
And then—the howl.
Fauna.
That was her wolf's voice.
And Silas—
silent for eighteen years—answered.
He howled.
I didn't let my shock take control.
I stayed on the ground.
No.
I couldn't stand now. The Arena Master would suspect me.
I could not—would not—draw his attention to my home.
I waited for the chaos to settle.
Then I rose and staggered into the crowd of warriors.
Every face wore the same expression:
Shock…
a brief, fragile joy…
and fear.
The Arena Master's command reached me as well.
I wanted to run.
To fly home.
But one thought hammered against my ribs:
What if Fauna isn't there?
The question tore through me like a blade.
I tried to reach Silas.
Nothing.
I stumbled toward the village.
Everyone I passed carried the same look I'd seen in the arena—confusion, hope, terror.
What happens now?
Felix's widow stepped into my path.
Not now. Please, I begged silently, bracing for her anger.
But she didn't strike me.
"It wasn't your fault," she whispered.
"Felix's spirit told me—just before reaching the Goddess.
And… he thanked Fauna."
She looked confused by her own words.
I wasn't.
I understood them far too well.
When I reached home, Selene saw me and broke into a wide, trembling smile.
"You're alive… thank the Goddess…"
Her embrace—
it held me together.
"Soren," she whispered.
"My wolf howled."
Her eyes drifted past me, into the dark forest.
"Fauna's wolf answered him."
My chest tightened.
Fauna…
Where are you?