The wolf was digging through the packed snow, clawing hard enough to throw up shards of ice and white powder. Her breath came fast, steaming in short clouds into the frozen air. Finally, beneath a gray mound of hardened snow, something stirred.

  An arm.

  The animal whimpered softly and kept digging until she uncovered Alden and Kael, half-buried. Alden had shielded his brother with his body, protecting him from the weight of the avalanche.

  “Here!” Doran’s rough voice split the silence.

  He and Kaelor rushed down the slope, boots sinking into loose snow. They helped Alden sit up; his face was pale, frost clinging to his hair, and a shallow cut marked his brow. Kael lay beside him, breathing heavily. His right shoulder was bloodied, his face bruised, and a gash ran along his left leg—but he seemed out of immediate danger.

  Doran let out a grunt—half relief, half exhaustion.

  “By the gods… I thought you were done for.”

  Kaelor scanned their surroundings. The avalanche had erased all trace of the path.

  “There’s no going back,” he said gravely. “Not for now.”

  A cold whistle cut through the ravine, swirling flurries of frost. A stone rolled from above, landing by Doran’s boot. He glanced up at the white wall now sealing off the valley.

  “Maybe it was luck,” he muttered. “If the collapse hadn’t happened, the soldiers would’ve reached us.”

  Alden lowered his gaze. His voice trembled.

  “I don’t know what that was… it just happened.”

  Doran shrugged.

  “Whatever it was, it saved our hides. But we’ll move slower with your brother wounded.”

  Kael pushed himself upright, forcing a grin.

  “Don’t worry. I can keep up.”

  “I’ll help him,” Alden said before Kaelor could speak.

  The veteran gave a short nod.

  “Good. We move.”

  They set out westward, cutting through frozen mounds. The silver wolf walked a few steps ahead, weaving lightly between ice crevices, though she looked back often—watching something more than the path.

  ***

  Several kilometers behind, Riven surveyed the ravine. Where a trail had once existed, there was now only a sheer wall of snow and stone—a white scar running across the mountain. The wind lashed his face with flakes mixed with dust.

  One of his men approached cautiously.

  “My lord, there’s no way through. We could try to clear it, but it would take days. The best option is to turn back and take the Kaerthar route. We’d reach the other side in two or three days.”

  Riven remained silent for several moments. Frustration burned in his throat, but his mind—trained to decide even in chaos—was already weighing alternatives.

  “Then we hasten,” he said at last. “We’ll make the crossing in half the time.”

  The soldier bowed and retreated. Riven kept staring at the white wall, feeling in the air the echo of the power that had erupted there. He didn’t know exactly what had happened—but he was certain of one thing:

  It hadn’t been an accident.

  The wind rose again, carrying a distant howl that faded among the peaks.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  ***

  Afternoon light filtered through the dry branches of the woods, bathing the air in gold and copper. Near the ancient ruins of Aeryndor, Lyanna was gathering herbs beside a quiet stream. Her hair was tied back, and she wore a pale-blue cloak embroidered with silver thread—the mark of her Order. Beneath it, dark linen trousers and travel-worn boots—practical, not elegant.

  The murmur of water blended with the chirping of insects when a rustle among the trees made her turn.

  A white silhouette moved through the brush.

  The creature emerged slowly from the foliage, its silver coat gleaming in the fading light.

  Lyanna stepped back, her hand brushing the hilt of her knife.

  “Easy,” a voice said behind her.

  She spun instantly. A young man stood there, wrapped in a gray cloak, exhausted but steady.

  “She won’t hurt you,” Alden added. “I know.”

  Lyanna eyed him cautiously.

  “And why should I believe you?”

  Alden gave a faint, sincere smile.

  “Because she’s with me.”

  Lyanna raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s… not reassuring.”

  “I know,” he admitted. “But we need help.”

  He explained that they had come from Nareth, heading for the temple of Aeryndor, that they had crossed the mountains, and that Kael was injured.

  “And why seek the temple?” she asked, not fully lowering her guard.

  “I had a vision,” Alden replied. “A woman spoke to me. She told me to come here.”

  Lyanna studied him in silence. There was a glint of recognition in her eyes, though her voice remained composed.

  “If you saw who I think… then you’re meant to be here.”

  After a brief pause, she added:

  “Take me to your brother.”

  ***

  The clearing where Kael, Kaelor, and Doran rested was strewn with dry leaves and fallen branches. A thin thread of smoke rose from a dying fire. Kael lay on an improvised blanket, pale but conscious.

  Kaelor tensed at the sound of approaching steps; only when he saw Alden and the young woman did he ease his grip on his sword.

  “I found help,” Alden said.

  Lyanna knelt beside Kael and examined the wound on his shoulder.

  “It won’t kill him,” she said calmly, “but he needs proper care.”

  She opened a small case of dried herbs and salves. As she applied a paste to the wound, her voice softened.

  “These are sword wounds. A couple of days old.”

  Kaelor answered:

  “We had an encounter with dangerous men in the pass.”

  Lyanna looked up.

  “It wasn’t an encounter… it was a warning. These mountains rarely make mistakes.”

  She finished bandaging the wound and stood.

  “I’ll take you to the temple. We must arrive before nightfall.”

  The group nodded. The wolf walked at Lyanna’s side as if she already knew her.

  ***

  The path descended through firs and dew-soaked undergrowth. The air smelled of damp earth and resin. Far off, the sun dipped behind the mountains, painting the sky in copper and mauve.

  Alden walked beside Lyanna in silence, a few steps ahead of the others. At last he spoke:

  “Everyone keeps talking about chosen paths… as if nothing I do could change anything.”

  She smiled wryly.

  “And yet, you keep moving forward.”

  Alden sighed.

  “Galathor’s men destroyed our village. We had nowhere to go. We ended up in Nareth… hired Doran… crossed the mountains… and now we’re here because a woman appeared in a dream and told me to come.”

  Lyanna paused. There was a hint of reproach in her eyes—more curiosity than accusation.

  “You don’t have to accept anything blindly,” she said. “But you can’t ignore what calls to you, either.”

  Alden looked down.

  “I just… don’t want someone else deciding who I’m supposed to be.”

  Her voice softened.

  “No one can do that. The world may show you doors, but only you choose which ones to walk through.”

  They continued in silence, but something had changed between them: not trust, but a fragile early understanding.

  ***

  The descent along the ridge was slow and dangerous. The dying light of day cast the rocks in grayish copper tones. Riven pressed on at the front, cloak whipping in the wind, followed by exhausted soldiers.

  The scout approached, breathing hard.

  “My lord… we’ve marched two days without stopping. We’ve regained some of the lost time, but the men are at their limit. If we continue through the night, they won’t last.”

  Riven didn’t stop.

  “We move until we find them.”

  The scout insisted:

  “We won’t see tracks in the dark. A few hours of rest will give us the advantage at dawn.”

  Riven finally halted. He restrained the urge to hurl his sword to the ground. Instead, he drove a hard punch into a nearby rock. A fragment cracked off and tumbled down the slope.

  “Fine,” he said at last. “Rest. At first light, we continue.”

  Mist thickened as the sun disappeared. In the distance, the wind carried a sound that might have been a howl… or a warning.

  ***

  The temple’s towers rose through the dusk mist, bathed in a soft glow from the crystals set into their walls.

  At the threshold, three women in pale robes and silver-trimmed blue cloaks approached with serene steps. After speaking with Lyanna, two of them bowed slightly toward the travelers.

  “They’ll take your brother to a room,” Lyanna said. “They’ll tend to him until he recovers.”

  Alden nodded gratefully. The acolytes lifted Kael gently and carried him into the inner halls.

  “Follow me,” Lyanna instructed.

  Kaelor narrowed his eyes.

  “And where are you taking us?”

  “To the Oracle,” she said without turning.

  Torchlight flickered across ancient columns and shifting shadows as they walked deeper into the temple–toward its heart, where the echoes of the world seemed to gather.

  Alden stepped through the threshold with a strange sensation tightening in his chest: the certainty that what he had tried to flee for so long…

  was waiting for him beyond those doors.