Henry's POV
The wind was cold. Not the kind of cold that numbed the skin—no, it was deeper than that. It bit into the bones. It whispered of endings.
I stood on the cliffs of Greyhold, staring down at the sea far below, where the storm churned with something ancient and furious. The world had changed, shifted violently ever since Samuel crossed the boundaries of the Forgotten Pantheon. I could feel it. We all could. The ley-lines sang a different tune now. The sky cracked in odd rhythms. And somewhere in the distance, the howl of a dead god echoed like thunder through time.
"Still brooding, old friend?" a voice said behind me.
I didn't have to turn. I knew it was Alaric. His steps were always too confident for someone who'd seen the worst of war.
"You feel it too," I replied, voice rough. "The world isn't right. The Veil's too thin. The gods are dying—and Samuel… Samuel's not just walking through realms. He's rewriting the structure of them."
Alaric walked up beside me, folding his arms. "He's transcended everything we knew. Broke through level caps, divine laws, even the Core Lock. No one was supposed to reach level 500, not even in prophecy. And now…"
"…now he's become something even the gods fear," I finished.
Alaric was silent for a beat. Then he spoke, softer, "He's not the same Samuel you knew in the Academy, Henry."
I clenched my fists.
"No," I whispered. "He's stronger. Smarter. More broken. And if we don't act soon, we might lose him completely."
I turned away from the sea, walking toward the ancient temple behind us—Sanctum Umbra, the last hidden stronghold of the old order. A place of secrets, relics, and warnings.
Inside, the firelight flickered along the runes etched into the obsidian walls. I knelt before the Mirror of Echoes, a relic only I could use. Only someone bound to Samuel's origin line could see what the mirror showed.
And what I saw chilled me to the marrow.
Samuel, standing alone in a place I didn't recognize. His body no longer fully human—his eyes glowing like twin eclipses, his aura warping space. Around him, a shattered battlefield littered with broken stars and dead gods.
He'd done it. He'd ended the Forgotten Pantheon.
But there was something else.
Another presence.
Something older than the gods. Something even the system had no record of.
"That isn't the end…" I whispered.
"Then we better be ready," Alaric said, stepping beside me. "Because if Samuel falls—if whatever's next consumes him—we may not get a second chance."
I stood. "Then let's find the old crew. Ezra, Kaine, Reina. Even the Outcasts. We call them back."
"And if they refuse?"
My voice turned to steel.
"Then we drag them back. Samuel saved us more times than I can count. Now it's our turn to save him… before he becomes something no one can stop."
And somewhere in the distance, thunder cracked—no storm, no wind—just a howl that sounded too much like a god who forgot he was ever human.
"Hold on, Sam," I muttered.
"We're coming."
________________________________________
Owen's POV
The moonlight filtered through the vast windows of the Jennings Mansion, casting silver shadows across the marbled floor. I stood on the balcony, claws half-drawn, the beast within me restless. The scent of night, of pine and wind and old blood, stirred something primal in me. I looked up at the sky—cloudless, vast, and echoing with a faint, unfamiliar hum.
It wasn't thunder. It wasn't wind.
It was Samuel.
A grin crept up my face. I could feel the power ripple through the world itself.
"Level 500, huh?" I muttered, cracking my neck. "Good. I'm gonna catch up to you soon, brother."
Behind me, I heard the soft rustle of silk and heels on polished stone. Yvette Jennings—heir to the Jennings bloodline, goddess-marked, heartbreak incarnate—approached slowly, stopping just before the edge of the balcony.
"You're always chasing him," she said, voice laced with tension. "Why is that? Why are you so obsessed with leveling up, with fighting, with your pack… rather than being obsessed with me?"
I turned slightly, enough to meet her eyes. That old fire was still in them, dancing behind her facade of elegance.
"You already know," I said, letting my claws emerge fully—sharp, blackened, etched with sigils of the old beastkin. "The Original Owen Yates is a part of me now. His memories. His instincts. His pain."
I paused, watching her expression. "What I don't know is… what exactly you want from me."
Yvette's gaze didn't waver. "What else would I want?" she said quietly. "To be beside you. To matter to you. You care about your friends, your kingdom, your precious pack… but where am I in your heart, Owen?"
I felt my jaw tighten. The beast within stirred, snarling softly in the hollow of my chest.
"You want to talk about the heart?" I said, turning to face her fully. "Then let's talk about the day you left me to die in that hospital bed. When you walked away—when you chose Randall over me."
Her eyes widened, but I didn't stop. My voice stayed low, steady, and deadly.
"You abandoned me. And now you ask where you stand in my heart?"
Yvette's voice cracked. "You think I wanted to marry him?"
I narrowed my eyes. "Then why did you?"
"You think you know everything," she snapped, stepping closer. Her voice rose—half fury, half sorrow. "But you don't know what I did after you died. You don't know what he did to me. What the Council forced me into. What the blood pact cost me."
She was trembling now. Not with fear—but with rage. With heartbreak.
I could smell the raw truth in her aura, but still, I wasn't sure. I didn't trust it. Not yet.
"I've heard all this before," I said, voice cold as stone. "From women who play with fate and lie with tongues made of honey and steel. I don't need another illusion, Yvette."
Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she stood her ground. "Then what do you need, Owen? What do I have to do?"
I stepped toward her, slow and deliberate, the moonlight casting long shadows of my claws on the floor. She didn't move away.
"I need proof," I said. "Not tears. Not words. Not some sad little tale about destiny and sacrifice."
I leaned in, my breath brushing her cheek.
"Prove to me," I whispered, "that you're worthy."
Her breath hitched. "Worthy of what?"
"Worthy of my forgiveness. Worthy of the blood of the Goddess you carry. Worthy to be my Luna."
Yvette stiffened. The word hung between us like a thunderclap.
"Luna?" she whispered, almost afraid to speak it aloud.
"My mate," I said, voice rumbling. "My partner. My Queen. But only if you earn it—not by past titles or divine lineage. But by action."
For a long, tense moment, she was silent. Then, slowly, she reached for the necklace around her throat and tore it off—snapping the seal that had bound her divine abilities. Light flickered over her skin as the goddess blood surged to the surface.
"If that's what you need," she said, glowing softly now, "then I'll prove it."
I stared at her, surprised.
"You'd really unlock that part of yourself… for me?"
She nodded. "I'll fight beside you. Bleed beside you. You want me to show I'm worthy?" Her voice dropped low, determined. "Then let's burn down the past together."
I grinned, the beast in me stirring with approval.
"Good," I said. "Because the next battle will shake realms."
And somewhere in the back of my soul, I felt Samuel's howl again—louder this time.