Ferris padded along silently for a while, not saying much and clearly not thrilled to be playing tour guide. D’Angelo kept a bit of distance behind him, still cautious but increasingly curious. Eventually, they came to a wide clearing surrounded by high rocks and old trees that formed a natural amphitheater. The ground was worn smooth by pawsteps, and the air carried a faint scent of smoke and cooked meat.

  “This is where we hold most of our ceremonies,” Ferris said, his voice bored, “festivals, meetings, pack rituals… things like that.”

  D’Angelo looked around, taking in the space. He could imagine wolves gathered here under the moonlight, howling together, maybe dancing—if wolves even did that.

  Ferris turned and started walking again, leading D’Angelo down a narrow trail until the gentle rush of water reached their ears. Soon, they emerged at the edge of a winding river. The water sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the trees. A few wolves lounged along the bank, others drank deeply or splashed in the shallows.

  “There’s the river,” Ferris said, gesturing lazily with his snout. “Good for bathing, drinking, and thinking. You should consider a dip… you stink.”

  D’Angelo shot him a hard side-eye.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Before Ferris could respond, Shadow—who had been quietly trailing them—gave a short bark of protest. His ears flattened, and he stepped up beside D’Angelo, protective as ever.

  Ferris turned with a sneer.

  “Peasants really shouldn’t speak to royalty.”

  Shadow growled low, teeth just barely showing.

  “How about I kick your royal ass?”

  D’Angelo’s eyes widened as the tension thickened. The two animals glared at each other, both bristling—until D’Angelo stepped between them, holding out his hands.

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  “Okay, okay! Let’s not do this now, alright?”

  The wolf and the dog circled each other, tension sparking between them like static in dry air. D’Angelo stood in the middle, arms slightly outstretched, trying to keep the peace. Ferris loomed larger and more menacing, his golden eyes sharp with irritation—but Shadow didn’t so much as blink. He was smaller, sure, but he had a stance that said try me.

  D’Angelo felt his nerves coil tight. He could almost see the moment where fur would fly—but before either side could pounce, a musical bark cut through the tension.

  “Ferris! Introduce us to your new friends, or are you too busy growling like a pup?”

  A female wolf padded toward them, her steps confident and graceful. Her silver-gray coat shimmered faintly in the afternoon light, and there was something in the way she held herself—half command, half ease—that made even Ferris lower his hackles a notch.

  “Lupa,” Ferris muttered, sounding halfway between annoyed and relieved.

  She turned to D’Angelo and Shadow with a kind expression.

  “I’m Lupa, Ferris’s older sister. Sorry if he’s being a pain—he doesn’t always play nice.”

  Behind her came a group of big, rough-looking wolves, their coats thick and their bodies scarred from hunts or fights. They looked like they could take down a bear and still make it home in time for dinner.

  Lupa nodded toward them.

  “We’re heading out to the hunting grounds. Gotta get some fresh meat for tonight’s festival. You’re welcome to join us—if you’re up for it.”

  Ferris didn’t say a word. His scowl stayed firmly in place.

  Shadow, however, perked up immediately.

  “Absolutely. It’s been a while since I had a good run.”

  D’Angelo hesitated, but Shadow shot him a grin and said,

  “C’mon, kid. First time’s always special.”

  D’Angelo glanced at the gathered wolves, then nodded.

  “Okay, I’m in.”

  As they started walking with the group, Shadow leaned over and nudged D’Angelo’s leg playfully.

  “You ever been in a rift before?”

  D’Angelo blinked.

  “A rift? No… not really. What’s it like?”

  Shadow’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

  “Wild. You’ll see.”

  **********

  Fenrir’s golden eyes followed Ferris until the last flick of his tail vanished behind the trees. The massive wolf’s expression darkened with quiet concern. His son was headstrong, too much like his younger self—stubborn, proud, and far too aggressive for a future leader. He grunted and turned to Jeremiah, letting the thoughts pass with a shake of his thick mane.

  “Jeremiah,” he rumbled, his voice low but firm, “why is a human pup wandering the wilds alone, and not behind your city’s metal walls? These lands are not safe. Not for a child. Not even for most men. Something does not make sense.”

  Jeremiah folded his arms, his gaze steady on the horizon before looking back at the great wolf.

  “I know. Believe me, I’ve been asking the same thing since I found him. The boy was running for his life when we met. From what I can tell, he has no powers, no training—no real means of protecting himself. His parents, the ones who were supposedly taking care of him…” Jeremiah shook his head. “Their home was in ruins. Blood everywhere. Furniture, heirlooms… smashed. But no bodies. Not a single trace. Shadow thinks they were eaten, and I don’t entirely disagree.”

  Fenrir’s ears tilted forward, eyes narrowing with deep thought.

  “But,” Jeremiah continued, “what confuses me most is how they were safe for so long. The wilds aren’t merciful to the weak. Yet that house stood, untouched for who knows how many years. Until now.”

  From the side, Lupa stepped closer, her silver coat catching the firelight from the distant torches being lit for the feast.

  “Do you think the boy is one of the Chosen?” she asked carefully.

  Jeremiah’s expression was unreadable for a moment. He glanced toward the direction D’Angelo had gone with Ferris and the others, his thoughts visibly heavy.

  “I’m not sure,” he said at last. “Not yet.”