The king’s hall was warm with torches, but the air felt frozen. The oldest priest in the kingdom knelt before the throne, trembling as if the words in his mouth were burning him alive.

  “Two sons,” he whispered. “Born of royal blood. One day they will rise against you.”

  Silence fell so heavy it seemed to crush the room. Outside, wind scraped against the stone like it wanted to listen.

  The king leaned forward, face twisting. “My sons? Impossible.”

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  Anger surged through the king like fire. He stood abruptly, the hall echoing with the slam of his footsteps. “Then they will not live long enough to fulfill it.”

  His guards stiffened. None dared speak.

  “Find them,” the king commanded. “Find the infants—wherever they are hidden. Bring them to the river. Let fate drown them.”

  The priest shut his eyes. Even the wolves in the distant hills seemed to go quiet.

  Except one.

  High above the kingdom, on a lonely mountain ridge, a lone she-wolf lifted her head. Her fur bristled against the cold. She did not yet know why, but something was coming. Something that would change the world.

  The king thought he could end a prophecy with cruelty.

  But destiny was already moving, step by step, toward the two children who would shape a city born from grief.