It began with a scream that shook the morning.

Not of pain but birth.

The sound carried over the ash valleys and through the mists of Iron Howl, echoing like the memory of thunder. The wolves rose, ears alert, their breath visible in the cold dawn air.

I felt it in my chest before I heard it a pulse, slow and heavy, beneath my ribs.

The Huntress was stirring.

The Ashborn woke in my arms, eyes glowing faintly. “She’s calling again.”

I stood, feeling the tremor spread through the ...