the wind pulled at her fur, thin and sharp as bone. morwenna stood at the summit, eyes narrowed against the light, watching the land stretch out beneath her like a promise long denied.
the cave rose ahead, carved into the mountain’s throat— not hollow, but vast, shaped by time and pressure and something older than either. its mouth gaped wide, ringed with stone like a crown. a place not meant to be found, only claimed.
she stepped forward, her paws near silent on the frostbitten stone, and entered the dark.
inside, it opened— high-vaulted, cold, full of silence. a throne room waiting for blood and fire.
morwenna lifted her chin.
evenspire will live again,she said, and the mountain held her voice like a vow.