The first sign is not a tremor.
Aurora has felt tremors before.
The earth shaking under the weight of ancient power is something she knows now—the way the lattice tightens, the way the Mark burns in warning, the way the air itself tastes different when the Devourer stirs.
No.
This is different.
This is quieter.
And somehow far more unsettling.
Aurora wakes before dawn with the strange sensation that the world has inhaled but forgotten how to exhale.
Her eyes open slowly.
Darkness still blankets the council chambers where she sleeps during long governance cycles. The fire in the hearth has burned down to soft embers. The air is cold, but not uncomfortable.
But something is wrong.
Not outside.
Inside the web.
Aurora sits up slowly.
The Mark under her ribs hums.
Not violently.
Not painfully.
Just… aware.
Like a nerve being brushed by a feather.
Her wolf lifts its head inside her mind.
"You feel it."
Aurora swings her legs off the bed.
"Yes."
