It began with whispers in sleep.

The first night after the Moonfire’s return, every wolf in Iron Howl dreamed the same thing: an ocean made of breath, and hands that rose from it, shaping stars out of sighs.

When dawn came, those same shapes lingered in the mist above the valley.

They were not ghosts.

They were not gods.

They were thoughts that refused to vanish.

Kael found me standing at the window, watching them ripple across the plains like living shadows.

“They’re everywhere,” ...