The silence of the Wastes wasn’t empty.
It was watching.
I could feel it in the bond—a faint, cold tremor beneath the warmth that usually pulsed between Kaelen and me. Like a crack in glass, invisible unless you knew where to look. The tracking runes we’d embedded in Vexis and Lysara had gone dark three days ago. No heartbeat. No magic. No life signs. Just… nothing. And in the Wastes, nothing wasn’t peace.
It was preparation.
“They’re not dead,” I said, my voice cutting through the quiet of the war room. The new Council—eight seats, not seven—sat in silence, their eyes on me. Dr. Elise Carter, the human-witch physician, tapped her fingers against her tablet, her silver eyes sharp. Silas, Kaelen’s Beta, stood at the edge of the room, his dark gaze scanning the shadows like he expected a blade to fly from them. Maeve, ancient and unshakable, sat with her hands folded, her face calm. The others—Fae, vampire, werewolf—all waited. Not because they feared me.
Because they trusted me.
And that terrified me more than any enemy ever had.
“The Wastes consume magic,” Elise said, breaking the silence. “No one survives more than a few weeks. The runes wouldn’t just go dark—they’d burn out. But these… they didn’t burn. They flickered. Like something blocked them.”
“Or someone,” I said.
Kaelen didn’t speak. Just stood beside me, his presence a quiet storm at my back. His golden eyes were on the map projected above the war table—Shadowveil, the Veiled Quarter, the Crimson Spire, Moonveil Pines, Verdant Hollow. And beyond them, a black void labeled simply: The Wastes. No borders. No landmarks. Just hunger.
“Someone helped them,” Silas said. “Or they found a way to hide.”
“Or both,” I said. “But not alone. The Wastes don’t just drain magic. They twist it. Corrupt it. Lysara wouldn’t last a week without help. Vexis might last longer, but not without a price.”
“And what price?” Maeve asked, her voice soft, ancient.
I didn’t answer.
Because I knew.
Power like that didn’t come free.
It came in blood.
“We need to send a scout,” Elise said. “Someone with low magic. A human, maybe. Someone the Wastes won’t immediately target.”
“No,” Kaelen said, his voice low, dangerous. “I go.”
Every head turned.
“You’re the Alpha,” Maeve said. “The Council needs you.”
“And I need to know what’s out there,” he said. “If they’re coming back, I’ll be the first target. I’ll face them on my terms.”
“And if it’s a trap?” I asked, my voice sharp.
He turned to me, his golden eyes burning. “Then I’ll walk into it anyway.”
My breath caught.
Not from anger.
From fear.
Because he wasn’t just the Alpha.
He was mine.
And I would not lose him.
“Then I go with you,” I said.
“No,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” I snapped. “Not anymore. Not after what we’ve been through. Not after what we’ve built.” I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You think I’ll let you walk into the dark alone? After everything?”
He didn’t answer.
Just reached up—and touched the scar on my neck.
The one he’d left when he finally claimed me.
When the bond had consumed us both in black fire and lightning.
“I don’t want to lose you,” he said, his voice rough.
“Then don’t make me lose you,” I said. “We go together. Or not at all.”
The room was silent.
And then—
Silas stepped forward. “I’ll go with you.”
I turned. “You don’t have to.”
“I know,” he said. “But I want to. Someone needs to watch your back. And Kaelen’s.”
Elise stood. “I’ll monitor from here. I can track your vitals, your magic levels. If something goes wrong, I’ll know.”
Maeve nodded. “And I’ll hold the wards. If they try to breach Shadowveil while you’re gone, I’ll be ready.”
I looked at Kaelen.
He didn’t argue.
Just nodded.
“Then we move at dawn,” I said. “No fanfare. No announcement. We slip in quiet. We find out what’s happening. And if they’re coming back—”
“We burn them out,” Kaelen said.
“Together,” I finished.
—
The portal to the Wastes wasn’t beautiful.
It was a wound.
A jagged tear in the stone floor of the lowest chamber beneath Shadowveil, its edges blackened, its runes cracked. The air around it hummed with decayed power, thick with the scent of rust and old magic. No light came from within. No sound. Just silence—deep, suffocating, eternal.
Silas stood at the edge, his fangs bared, his dark eyes scanning the void. Elise had given him a pulse monitor—small, silver, strapped to his wrist. It glowed faintly, syncing with her tablet aboveground. Kaelen stood beside me, his hand in mine, his body tense. The bond flared—soft, golden—not from desire, not from hunger, but from warning.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said, my voice low.
He turned to me, his golden eyes burning. “Neither do you.”
“Then we’re both too stubborn to walk away,” I said.
He didn’t smile. But his thumb brushed the edge of my lip, his touch warm, familiar. “Always.”
Silas stepped back. “Ready.”
I took a breath.
And stepped through.
The Wastes weren’t a place.
They were a sentence.
No sun. No moon. No stars. Just endless dunes of black sand that shifted like living things, swallowing footsteps, burying hope. The air tasted like rust and old magic, thick with the scent of decayed power and forgotten oaths. No trees. No water. No life. Just silence—deep, suffocating, eternal. A prison without walls. A grave without a body.
And then—
The bond twisted.
Not broken.
Not severed.
Corrupted.
It still pulsed between Kaelen and me, but it was… wrong. Darker. Colder. Like something was feeding on it. I could feel it—a pull, not toward him, but away. Toward the center of the Wastes.
“The runes,” I whispered, my voice ragged. “They’re not just blocked. They’re being used.”
Kaelen didn’t answer.
Just gripped my hand tighter, his fangs bared, his golden eyes scanning the dunes. Silas moved ahead, his boots silent on the shifting sand, his pulse monitor glowing faintly. The air was thick, oppressive, like walking through tar. Every step was a fight. Every breath felt like swallowing glass.
And then—
We saw it.
In the distance—a structure.
Not natural.
Not built.
>Grow.A tower of black stone, its surface pulsing like a heartbeat, its spires twisting like bone. Runes covered it—Fae, vampire, werewolf—all of them, but none of them. Twisted. Wrong. And at its base—
Figures.
Shadows.
Too many to count.
“They’re not alone,” Silas said, his voice low.
“No,” I said. “They found allies.”
“Or prisoners,” Kaelen said.
And then—
The tower breathed.
Not metaphor.
It expanded. Contracted. Like a living thing.
And from its center—a pulse.
Dark. Ancient. Powerful.
It hit me like a blade.
The bond—already twisted—flared, not with golden light, but with black fire. Lightning crackled at my fingertips, the runes on my wrist pulsing, the air humming with power. I could feel it—her voice, her laughter, her fear, her love—racing through the bond like a storm.
But not my mother.
Something else.
Something older.
Something hungry.
“Torrent,” Kaelen said, his voice rough. “We need to go.”
“No,” I said. “Not yet.”
Because I could feel it.
The truth.
Not just about Vexis.
Not just about Lysara.
About the Wastes.
About us.
“They’re not trying to escape,” I whispered. “They’re trying to awaken something.”
“And what?” Silas asked.
I didn’t answer.
Because I already knew.
The Wastes weren’t just a prison.
They were a grave.
And something was buried here.
Something that had been waiting.
Something that had been called.
And it had answered.
—
We didn’t go to the tower.
Not yet.
Instead, we circled wide, staying low, moving through the dunes like ghosts. The air was thicker here, the silence deeper. The bond still pulsed—black and gold, electric and raw—but it was weaker now, like something was draining it. My magic flared beneath my skin, a storm waiting to break, but it felt… distant. Like it wasn’t fully mine.
And then—
We found the first body.
Not Vexis.
Not Lysara.
>A werewolf.Male. Young. His throat torn out, his fangs bared, his eyes wide with terror. But not from the Wastes.
From the runes carved into his chest.
Not Fae. Not vampire. Not wolf.
>Older.Twisted.
And glowing faintly, like they were still alive.
“They’re using blood magic,” Silas said, his voice low. “Sacrificing supernaturals to feed the tower.”
“Not just supernaturals,” I said, kneeling beside the body. “Look at the pattern.”
The runes weren’t random.
They formed a sigil.
One I’d seen before.
In my mother’s journal.
“It’s a binding spell,” I said, my voice breaking. “But not to contain. To awaken.”
Kaelen crouched beside me, his golden eyes scanning the runes. “And what are they waking?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I already knew.
The Wastes weren’t just a prison.
They were a seal.
And someone had started to break it.
“We need to get closer,” I said.
“It’s a trap,” Kaelen said.
“Of course it is,” I said. “But it’s the only way to know what we’re facing.”
He didn’t argue.
Just nodded.
And we moved.
—
The tower was worse up close.
Not just stone.
>Living.Its surface pulsed like muscle, its runes glowing like veins. The air around it hummed with power, thick with the scent of blood and decay. And at its base—
Dozens of bodies.
Werewolves. Vampires. Fae. All of them, their throats torn, their runes carved, their blood pooled into the sand like an offering.
And in the center—
Vexis.
And Lysara.
They stood on a platform of black stone, their hands raised, their voices chanting in a language I didn’t know. But I could feel it—every word a blade, every syllable a wound. The magic was ancient. Forbidden. And it was working.
“They’re not just sacrificing them,” I whispered. “They’re using their deaths to power the spell.”
“And what spell?” Silas asked.
I didn’t answer.
Because I already knew.
The Wastes weren’t just a prison.
They were a grave.
And something was buried here.
Something that had been waiting.
Something that had been called.
And it had answered.
“We need to stop them,” Kaelen said.
“Not yet,” I said. “We need to know what they’re summoning.”
And then—
The ground shook.
Not from an earthquake.
From something rising.
From beneath the tower.
From the heart of the Wastes.
And then—
I heard it.
A whisper.
Not in my ears.
>In my mind.“You found me, little storm.”
But it wasn’t my mother.
It was something else.
Something older.
Something hungry.
And it knew my name.
—
The silence after the whisper wasn’t silence at all.
It was a breath.
A pause.
The kind that comes before a storm breaks.
And I knew—
We were too late.
“Torrent,” Kaelen said, his voice rough. “We need to go. Now.”
“No,” I said. “Not yet.”
Because I could feel it.
The truth.
Not just about Vexis.
Not just about Lysara.
About the Wastes.
About us.
“They’re not trying to escape,” I whispered. “They’re trying to awaken something.”
“And what?” Silas asked.
I didn’t answer.
Because I already knew.
The Wastes weren’t just a prison.
They were a grave.
And something was buried here.
Something that had been waiting.
Something that had been called.
And it had answered.
And now—
It was waking.
And it knew my name.