The trail to Yggdrasil was carved in fog—thick, breathless fog. Not mist. Not dew. Fog that wrapped around my skin like a warning, cold as burial dirt. It crawled up dead roots and gripped shattered statues like fingers unwilling to let go.

Lucien moved ahead, silent and stiff, every step measured. I followed closely, barely seeing the ground beneath my feet. His silence was louder than the storm in my chest.

“Is this... your home?” I asked.

No reply.

Not in words.

He just lifted his hand and pointed through the thick, shivering veil of white. That’s when I saw them—ruins. Towers split in two. Spires torn down by time and tree roots. An archway stood crookedly in the fog, etched with symbols that meant nothing to my eyes… and everything to my blood.

A pulse.

A memory I didn’t own.

“It used to be,” he said, and his voice didn’t sound like it belonged in his throat.

We crossed the threshold, and the world changed.

It was like stepping into a graveyard the gods had abandoned. The air turned hollow. My heartbeat slowed unnaturally. Even the sound of our footsteps felt... off. Not real. Like echoes of someone else’s memory.

Statues lined the path—lupine figures with crescent-slitted eyes, winged warriors brandishing swords forged from starlight. All of them broken. Heads missing. Eyes gouged out. Wings snapped.

I paused beside one—its face clawed beyond recognition.

“Who did this?” I whispered.

Lucien’s silence returned. Then, bitter as iron:

“My kin. When we turned against each other. When the celestial blood rotted from within and the The underscourge took hold of some kinsmen.”

He looked past me, eyes scanning the ruins like he saw ghosts I couldn’t.

“Before the fall, we were Máni’s Guard. Moon-blessed. Bound by light. Haters of Sólhverfabut even at that we were pure. After… we became something else. Something cruel.”

My fingers brushed the ruined statue. I imagined its face—fierce, noble, proud. Like his once was, maybe.

“You were part of this?” I asked carefully.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

“I was their blade,” he said. “Until I refused.”

We reached the city’s broken heart. Crushed domes. Burned stone. Blackened marble that might’ve once been beautiful. At the center stood a cracked dais of moonstone—split down the middle like something sacred had been severed.

Something pulled me to it.

I didn’t resist.

I stepped forward, breath unsteady, and placed my hand on the cold surface.

Flash.

A vision hit—sharper than any before.

A ring of silver-cloaked warriors. A child at their center. Me. A crescent mark glowing on my back and the runes pulsating around my head, burned bright as starlight. Their hands were raised—some in blessing, others in fear. Worry was written on all their faces and some had terror in their eyes.

One voice rose above the others:

“She is of Hati’s line. The enemy’s blood. She must not remain.”

Then another voice—softer, defiant, male:

“She is moon-touched. She is still one of us.”

Lucien.

The world snapped back. I staggered from the dais, gasping.

“You were there,” I breathed. “When I was born.”

He looked at me. The coldness in his gaze had melted, just for a second.

“You were left at the border,” he said. “Abandoned. No clan would claim you. And your father was too scared to take you in then. I said we should raise you.”

“But you didn’t,” I said, voice like broken glass.

“I wasn’t Alpha,” he murmured. “Just a sword. And the Alpha... was afraid.”

Of me.

Of what I carried in my blood.

We lingered longer than we meant to. I sat at the foot of a broken moon statue, legs aching, head spinning with visions and half-memories. Lucien stood a few paces away, watching the shadows like they might lunge.

I wanted to hate him. To scream.

But I couldn’t. Because deep down, I knew—

They all ran from me.

Even him.

“Why save me now?” I asked. “Why not let me die like the rest of them wanted?”

He didn’t speak for a while. Then:

“Because you remind me of what I failed to protect.”

His voice cracked at the edge, just enough.

“And because the Hatisynir are moving again. If they reach the sacred sites in Muspelheim—if they unseal the Wolf-Gate—your bloodline is the only one that can stop them.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “My bloodline caused the curse.”

Lucien’s eyes met mine. Steady. Certain.

“But it also holds the key.”

That night, I dreamed of silver chains coiled around stars.

Of a howl echoing across the void, calling my name.

And when I woke—drenched in cold sweat, fists clenched—the moon-mark on my back was glowing again.