Serena Blythewood

Freya was the youngest hunter of the Frostfang Tribe, yet she concealed a dangerous truth—she was a descendant of the legendary "Silver-Blooded," whose blood could awaken the slumbering Wolf God. To protect this secret, she never transformed in front of others, relying only on her arrows in battle, enduring scorn and ridicule behind her back. During a sudden ambush, Freya was wounded while saving Theo, the war chief's son. After secretly using her blood to heal him, she vanished without a trace. When Theo awoke, all he remembered were those icy blue eyes in the mist—yet he mistakenly believed his savior to be another noble maiden, Eileen.

Silverblood Exile

“Step carefully,” muttered the exile scout, crouched beside Freya. “The roots bite deeper the closer we get to the heart.”


Freya nodded, eyes narrowing. A low growl vibrated through the underbrush ahead—blind wargs again. She notched an arrow, its silver fletching faintly glowing. Around her, six other exiles waited—soldiers, deserters, castaways. Some whispered that she'd survived the first week in the Deadwood without going mad. Others called her “Pale Warden,” reverent and afraid.


She released the arrow. It hissed through the air and struck the charging warg’s skull. A burst of black ichor sprayed the frost. The beast collapsed, twitching.


The others didn’t cheer. They simply nodded.


“That’s the third one today,” muttered Lark, a wiry girl who once served as a border scout. “They’re hunting something.”


Chapter 5: Exile to the Deadwood