The fire in the hearth crackled like a weary heart.
In the cabin, the bags were packed—simple, aged leather, with winter clothes, blankets, and two books borrowed from the village library. Nothing that revealed who they were. Nothing that betrayed what they carried in their blood. Kael adjusted the straps of the saddle of the strongest horse—a gray stallion with eyes that seemed to know the north. Lira checked the provisions: dry bread, cured cheese, smoked meat, and a bottle of special ink—for writing, if needed. Valeris watched them from the doorway, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the horizon as if trying to see beyond the mountains… beyond time.
"Uncle," Lira called, approaching. "You're looking at us as if we're going to disappear into the mist."
He didn't smile. But his eyes softened.
"You will disappear. Just not in the way I fear."
Kael came too, wiping his hands on his coat.
"We're ready."
"You'll never be ready," Valeris replied quietly. "Elverest isn't a school. It's a battlefield with books. There, one wrong look can cost you an eye. One poorly chosen word, your life."
"Then why send us there?" Lira asked.
Valeris looked at the two of them, one by one, as if memorizing their faces.
"Because that's where you'll discover who you really are.
And if you are discovered… let it be for something big enough to be worthwhile."
Kael pounded his fist lightly.
"We'll get in. We'll pass the tests. We'll excel."
"Without revealing anything?" Valeris raised an eyebrow.
"Without revealing anything that isn't already within us," Lira corrected calmly. "And if something about us is… different?"
"Then let the world get used to it," Kael said.
Valeris laughed, for the first time in weeks. A dry, but genuine sound.
"You're as stubborn as wolves."
"That's what you always said," Lira smiled.
He placed his hands on their shoulders.
"Return with honor.
Or don't return at all."
They mounted.
The horses knew the way—or perhaps it was the wind that pushed them south, towards the towers of Elverest.
The cabin fell silent.
Valeris stood for a long time, watching the road until the figures of the two disappeared around the bend in the hills.
Then, a soft voice called from the shadows of the forest:
"Aren't you going to cry, Valeris?"
He didn't turn around.
"Shely. I thought you'd left."
The older woman appeared, dressed in a simple cloak, but with a silver brooch hidden beneath the fabric—a wolf with moon-like eyes.
She was employed at the Vaelmoor fortress. Cook. Seamstress. Keeper of secrets.
"Although?" She smiled sadly. "My home was burned, but my heart still beats in Vaelmoor. And now… it beats for them."
Valeris sighed, going back inside.
"Sit down. The tea is still hot."
She entered, sat at the table. Looked at the empty suitcases.
"Are you afraid they'll discover them?"
"No," he replied, serving the tea. "I've already seen the signs."
"The ice magic Lira performed? It's not just cold. It's ancient mana—the same as her mother's."
"And the clone Kael creates at the waterfall? No one has managed that since the clan fell."
"The books are lost, Shely. But the blood remembers."
She was silent for a moment. Then she smiled—an expression that seemed to have been dormant for years.
"So… it's the beginning."
"Yes," said Valeris, looking out the window. "The beginning of what was interrupted that snowy night.
I don't know if it's redemption.
I don't know if it's revenge.
But it's justice."
Shely touched the brooch under her cloak.
"Let the wolves howl again."
And outside, the wind blew stronger—as if in agreement.