Chapter 90: The Voice of The Ruins

Chapter 90: The Voice of The Ruins
“It is her! The Promised One! No priest, no king — only she can guide the shard’s fate!”

And in that moment, the tide itself shifted — the sea calm around her feet, the storm raging beyond.

Coletta had awakened.

—

The Crescent ruins lay in ruin, yet it breathed. Roots pierced through shattered stone, the wind moved as though with purpose, and the fractured ground pulsed with a heartbeat that did not belong to the earth alone. The shard’s echo was here. Everyone could feel it.

Coletta stood at the edge of the broken courtyard, her eyes narrowing as the faint shimmer danced in the air like a mirage. She did not tremble, nor did she search for words to describe what she felt. Her body knew. Her spirit knew. This was the hour she had been carried toward since birth.

The Lycans of North and South shifted uneasily behind her, suspicion still gnawing at the seams of their fragile truce. Damien kept his posture firm, his wolf pacing just beneath the surface, but his gaze stayed fixed on Coletta.

“Do you feel it?” Ruth whispered, her hands already lifted as light flickered between her fingers.

“I don’t feel it,” Coletta said softly, stepping forward. “I hear it. The Crescent ruins are calling.”

At her words, silence fell. The roots in the earth stirred, leaves whispering though no breeze passed. High Priest Maeron’s brows furrowed, but his voice carried respect. “Then answer it, child of prophecy. We will follow where you lead.”

Nireya raised her staff, silver runes burning to life. “The shard reveals itself only to the promised. We are here to steady the channel, not claim it.”

Coletta felt no need to draw strength from their reassurance. Her hands stretched outward, palms bare to the air, and the Crescent ruins responded with unflinching loyalty. Vines rose to weave beneath her feet like a living path. The ruined arches bowed slightly inward, as if bending toward her presence. The wind hushed, awaiting command.

She spoke—not with effort, but with certainty.
“Show me where you hide.”

The earth groaned. A pulse rippled outward from the courtyard stones, deep and resonant, striking each Lycan with the force of instinct. Wolves bristled and shifted, claws scraping stone, throats catching a growl they could not suppress. The shard’s beat resonated with their blood, demanding recognition.

Maeron, Nireya, and Ruth circled Coletta, their voices rising in cadence, binding chants weaving together. But all present knew it was her voice the Crescent ruins obeyed. Their prayers amplified her resonance, yet the roots coiled around her, not them.

And then—darkness answered.

From the far side of the ruins, a hiss like oil across water spread. The Serpent Gate emerged, cloaked in shadow, their forms indistinct yet their presence undeniable. Tendrils of corrupted energy crawled across the stones, reaching for the pulse Coletta had awakened.

“You dare pry open what is sealed?” one of them spat, his voice a whisper of rot. “The shard belongs to the Gate. Not to wolves. Not to false prophecy.”

Damien’s growl tore through the courtyard, primal and sharp. His form twisted, bones snapping as his wolf surged forth. Others followed—North and South both—ignoring their doubts, instincts uniting them against the stench of corruption. Fur bristled, fangs gleamed, and the ruins rang with the sound of claws striking earth.

The Serpent Gate moved like a tide, shadows coiling, steel flashing. They met the Lycans with venom and flame. Wolves leapt, howls splitting the air as blood mingled with ash.

Coletta did not falter. The clash surged around her, but her gaze was locked on the spreading corruption slithering toward the shard’s hidden core. She raised her arms higher, her voice cutting through the roar of battle.

“Crescent ruins, hear me. Rise.”

The ground obeyed. Roots shot upward, intercepting the black tendrils and burning them with raw vitality. Branches lashed like whips, striking down those who dared push forward. Even the fractured stones rearranged, forming barriers that shielded the fighting wolves.

Yet the Serpent Gate pressed on, chanting their own forbidden liturgy. A fissure cracked the air itself, revealing the shard’s faint glow beneath layers of warding.

Ruth cried out, “They mean to corrupt it before it awakens!”

Coletta’s eyes burned silver, brighter than they ever had. She strode forward, unafraid, every step echoing with a presence beyond mortal strength. Her voice deepened, carrying not just her tone but something older, something woven into the crescent ruin itself.

“You will not touch what was promised.”

A howl rose—not from her throat, but from the earth. It reverberated through every wolf, snapping spines straighter, sharpening claws, fueling their frenzy. The North and South fought as one, not because Damien commanded it, but because she did.

The Serpent Gate faltered. Their corruption withered where her gaze fell, their chants stuttered against the raw clarity of her presence. One of them reached desperately for the shard’s glow—only to be hurled back as vines impaled the ground around him.

Coletta lifted her hand, and the ruins themselves shifted. The air shimmered, and for the first time, the shard revealed itself fully. A crystal of fractured light pulsed beneath the courtyard, suspended between earth and spirit.

Gasps echoed through the ranks, wolf and priest alike.

“The shard…” Nireya whispered, awe softening her tone. “She has brought it forth.”

The Serpent Gate recoiled, shadows snapping backward like scorched flesh. They hissed, retreating into the fissures of darkness from which they came, but their voices promised return.

“This is not the end, chosen one. You cannot guard it forever.”

When silence returned, the wolves stood panting, bloodied but alive. Suspicion had not vanished, but for now, all eyes turned toward Coletta. Even Damien dipped his head, not in submission, but in recognition.

The shard pulsed softly, its glow bathing Coletta in fractured light. She reached out, not to seize it, but to honor it.

“I am not here to guard it forever,” she said, her voice calm but resonant. “I am here to carry it to where destiny demands. And none of you will stand in the way.”

The ruins bowed in silence, the priests lowered their staffs, and for the first time since their quest began, there was no doubt—Coletta was the voice of prophecy, and the war for the shard had truly begun.