Part II — Adodeme
The mountains groan with thunder when Adodeme returns.
The war drums have fallen silent, but the air still smells of smoke and blood. She walks through the fortress gates alone, helm under one arm, axes dragging faint lines in the stone. The torches flare as she passes; her aura unsettles even the flames.
Inside the hall, the Bloodfang elders argue.
"It was witchcraft," one snarls.
"No," says another, "it was the gods. Did you not see the sky? Fire and lightning in the same breath—signs of judgment!"
Her father, Warchief Voryn, turns when she enters. His gaze is heavy, measuring.
"You faced the human commander?"
Adodeme nods once. "Briefly."
"And the light? Did you call it?"
"I called nothing," she says. "But something answered."
The room stills. Only the crack of fire breaks the silence.
"If the gods are stirring," Voryn growls, "they will test us through you. Rest. You fight again when the mist clears."
Adodeme bows and leaves, though her heart drums faster with each step. She does not go to her quarters; instead she climbs the winding path to the shrine above the fortress where her mother keeps vigil.
Delaya Bloodfang waits beside the sacred brazier, her eyes closed, lips moving in prayer. When Adodeme approaches, the matriarch speaks without opening her eyes.
"You saw him, didn't you?"
Adodeme freezes. "Who?"
"The one bound to your fire. The echo in your chest."
"How could you know that?"
Delaya smiles sadly. "Because the flame in your aura is no longer red. It has touched silver."
Adodeme glances down at her hands. The faint sigils that mark her beast bonds—once amber and crimson—now shimmer with a trace of moonlight. Her stomach twists.
"What does it mean?" she whispers.
"It means the prophecy breathes again," Delaya says. "And the gods are watching."
The brazier flares higher, sparks snapping like teeth. For a heartbeat the fire coils into the shape of a serpent, golden and immense, then collapses back into embers.
Adodeme stumbles back, heart pounding. The mark on her palm burns, forming a new line—a third ring.
She can feel it, something vast uncoiling inside her chest, older than her clan, older than war. It whispers in a voice that isn't entirely her own:
"Find him."
The word shivers through the mountain. The torches flicker out one by one until only the serpent's glow remains in her eyes.