King Magnus’s POV
The news of Aria being the legendary White Wolf spread faster than wildfire across the packs. From elders to warriors, the revelation set everyone ablaze with excitement and awe. Even I was still grappling with the magnitude of it. Aria—my mate—was the White Wolf. A creature of legend, thought to have vanished over two thousand years ago, now reborn.
Aria had been unconscious since last night’s shifting ceremony, still weak but back in her human form. The memory of her transformation played on a loop in my mind—the way she howled under the full moon, her white fur like snow against the midnight sky. It was breathtaking, terrifying even. Her power surged through the earth itself.
The weight of it bore down on me; I needed answers. Her mother once told me Aria was unique, able to communicate with her wolf from an unusually young age, but even that hadn’t prepared me for this. With no other choice, I summoned the only one who might have an inkling of what this meant—the pack’s witch, Lady Sylvaine.
I hadn’t called upon Sylvaine in years. Since the day I’d buried my hope of finding a mate, her counsel had felt like a shadow I didn’t need. But today, I could no longer avoid it.
As she entered the meeting chambers, she moved like mist gliding over water, a figure that exuded both age and wisdom. Her eyes held secrets that belonged to times long forgotten, and for the first time in years, I felt a shiver of something ancient and foreboding.
"King Magnus," she greeted, dipping her head respectfully. "This is no ordinary blessing or curse."
“Lady Sylvaine,” I replied, my voice a mix of desperation and demand. “Aria... She is the White Wolf. I need to understand what this means.”