Chapter 2 – The Wolf at the Edge
The air was thick with the scent of steel and blooming skyros flowers as Jean crossed the Academy's threshold. Behind her, the clangor of celebration dulled into silence. Ahead, only the looming forest waited—ancient, vast, and silent. It was the first step of her Envoy Knight journey. And yet, she stopped.
Those eyes were still watching.
Golden. Luminous. Unblinking.
Jean's instincts screamed sword—but her soul whispered no.
She turned, hand hovering near the hilt at her hip. "You can come out."
Branches rustled. Silence. Then a soft crunch of pawsteps.
A creature stepped forward—not a wolf. Not entirely. Its fur shimmered silver under sunlight, speckled with faint runes pulsing beneath the skin. Eyes like suns. Aura like a quiet storm.
Jean's breath caught. "A dire wolf…"
The creature lowered its head in something resembling a bow.
Then it spoke—not with sound, but with thought.
"I am Whitney. Celeste sent me."
Her pulse thundered. "You… speak?"
"Only to my bonded."
"You mean—" Jean paused, heartbeat wild. "You're my divine guardian?"
Whitney tilted his head. "I am yours, Emissary. You will walk a path of light through shadow. I will be your shield, your fang, your companion."
Jean staggered slightly. This wasn't a dream.
She remembered the voice at the ceremony. My Emissary…
The goddess Celeste had chosen her long ago. She'd always felt it in the way light bent toward her, in the way swords sang in her grasp.
Whitney stepped closer. The divine bond flared to life, surging from his chest to hers like a golden thread connecting them across realms.
She dropped to one knee, touched his muzzle with trembling fingers.
"I accept," she whispered.
Whitney's eyes softened. "Then we are bound. Forever."
A thunderclap sounded in the distance. No clouds above—just a divine sign.
From far behind, bells rang again, this time in alarm.
Jean stood quickly, her hand to her sword. "Trouble already?"
Whitney's ears perked. "Not trouble. A message."
She turned back toward the Academy as a figure rode hard toward her from the gates.
It was a messenger knight, cloak flapping wildly behind him.
He halted beside her, panting. "Jean Luther! You are summoned to Luther Keep. Immediately."
Jean's heart sank.
Luther Keep. Home of her clan. Home of her grandfather—Charles Luther, the patriarch.
And home to a throne not yet claimed.
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