The night sky was cloaked in heavy clouds, the moon barely visible behind veils of shadow. Rain had begun to fall over the camp, and the Nevri scattered throughout the area stood in silence—only their glowing eyes betrayed their presence in the darkness. The hush was broken only by the occasional snap of a branch underfoot.
Sanathiel, even in stillness, exuded an intensity that demanded attention. When angered, his presence alone warned that the atmosphere could be shattered with a single wrong word. At the center of it all stood Zaira.
"Stop, Zaira. And you—don't move, hunter," he ordered, his voice a blend of command and deep concern.
She froze, not turning to face him. Her voice, cold and sharp, cut like a blade as she replied:
"Sanathiel, this leads nowhere. Everyone is trying to contain the fire—I have to help."
Distrust flared in his chest. He stepped forward and grabbed her arm, forcing her to face him.
"If something's wrong, tell me. I'll protect you, Zaira—even if I have to face the whole world," he said, eyes burning with a fierce, almost desperate light.
For a moment, Zaira's mask cracked. Her eyes revealed a flicker of vulnerability. But just as quickly, she hardened again, pulling away from him.
"Maybe… but you're a Nevri. And there's always a price for every action," she answered, her words hanging in the air as she turned and walked away from the hunter.
Sanathiel remained still, mind clouded with questions and doubt. He felt Zaira slipping further from his reach, each step taking her farther from a truth he couldn't grasp.
Zaira walked with purpose toward the edge of the camp, where Salomón stood on watch. His face was veiled in shadows, but his eyes glinted with concern as she approached.
"Zaira, what's going on?" he asked, lowering his guard as he noticed her expression.
She didn't waste a second. Pulling back her collar, she revealed a tattoo etched on her neck—barely visible beneath the torchlight. It pulsed with life: the symbol of the witch.
"This is what's going on, Salomón. I met a witch… and she warned me about the white wolf. About Sanathiel," she said, pausing to steady herself.
"If he doesn't learn to control his power, he'll lose himself. The Nevri will be trapped in their beast forms forever. He'll become a monster the moment that moon medallion around his neck claims him."
Salomón took a step back, shaken. The look in Zaira's eyes left no room for lies.
"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, his voice low and strained.
Zaira clenched her fists and looked away. After a long breath, she answered:
"Because I don't want to lose him. If he destroys himself, I'll regret it forever. Even if everything in me says he should die, my heart screams to protect him. That's why—even if he'll never be mine—I'll give everything I have. Even if it means losing his trust… or losing him."
The words struck Salomón like a blow. Surprise and sympathy warred within him… along with something darker he fought to keep buried.
"Zaira… this is madness. You expect me to go against our Alpha?" he asked, voice thick with conflict.
Zaira held his gaze, her eyes blazing with unshakable resolve.
"I'm not asking permission, Salomón. I need your help."
Before he could reply, a noise broke from the shadows. They turned sharply just as Ibrahim stepped out from the trees, arms crossed and a venomous smile on his lips.
"How touching," he drawled, eyeing them both. "A conspiracy against the white wolf? Now this… this is interesting."
Salomón stepped forward, positioning himself between Ibrahim and Zaira.
"This doesn't concern you, Ibrahim," he growled, voice laced with warning.
But Ibrahim simply laughed, his gaze fixed on Zaira.
"Oh, but it does. What the two of you are planning could unravel everything we've built. You really think I'll let that happen?"
When they returned to camp, Sanathiel was waiting. His stance, tense and rigid, and the dangerous glow in his eyes left no doubt: something was wrong.
"Where were you?" he asked, his voice low but full of threat.
Before Zaira could speak, Salomón stepped in.
"It's not what you think, Sanathiel. Let me explain—"
But Sanathiel wasn't listening. With a roar, he shoved Salomón into a wall, claws extended, hand tightening around his throat.
"You were hiding this from me?!" he shouted, his voice shaking the camp.
Salomón struggled to breathe, voice barely audible beneath the pressure.
"Listen… it's not what you think…"
With a harsh motion, Sanathiel released him, sending him stumbling backward. His eyes burned with rage and betrayal.
"You call yourselves my friends, but all I see is scheming behind my back," he muttered before turning and walking away, leaving Salomón gasping on the ground.
Zaira stood frozen, torn between guilt and the fierce need to save Sanathiel—from himself, if that's what it took.
That night, as the camp slept, Ibrahim met with Daesa at the forest's edge. The moon cast a weak light over them as their whispers wove through the trees.
Daesa, forever living in her brother Falco's shadow, had waited too long to see Zaira fall.
"Do you think it'll work?" she asked, her tone uncertain.
Ibrahim smiled with quiet confidence.
"Sanathiel is teetering on the edge, and Salomón's too weak to stop me. We just need one final push—and it all comes crashing down."
In the distance, Zaira knew the coming battle wouldn't just be against enemies lurking in the shadows… but the demons clawing at Sanathiel from within.
The camp slept. But Zaira, boots sinking in wet earth, could not close her eyes.
"Fate is not something I'll accept without a fight," she thought, adjusting her bow as the first light of dawn began to bleed across the horizon.