Three nights after the ashfire dawn, Iron Howl slept uneasily.

The gods were gone, yet the air still hummed with their absence, a silence so thick it tasted of iron and prayer. The wolves patrolled in wary pairs. Kael stood sleepless beside the window, his scar faintly aglow in the pale firelight.

I lay on the stone bed, our child curled against me, tiny but impossibly warm. Its glow dimmed with each breath, as if learning to rest, to mimic mortal rhythms.

Kael finally turned from the ...