The Echo of a name

Kael didn't chase after Orin. Not because he didn't want to—but because something inside him told him that if Orin wanted to be found, he would be.

But his words lingered.

"Alpha."

The title felt foreign, yet it sent a deep, unsettling ripple through Kael's chest, like an echo of something long buried. Rhia was watching him, her expression unreadable, and Fenrir… she hadn't stopped staring.

"Kael," Rhia said carefully, "what did he mean by that?"

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know."

Liar.

Something inside him knew. Or, at least, had begun to understand.

Fenrir took a step closer, her golden eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made his skin prickle. Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, she lowered her head—not quite submission, but something close.

Kael's stomach twisted. Fenrir was a beast of her own will. She followed no master, no leash. But now, for the first time, she was acknowledging something in him that he wasn't ready to name.

Rhia noticed too. "Kael," she said again, softer this time. "What's happening to you?"

He didn't have an answer.

The wind stirred, carrying a distant howl. Not from Fenrir. Not from any wolf he knew.

It was a call.

And it was calling him.

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