Saela did not know what she expected from the dream that took her mind and body from the safety of her den—her dugout she had created to shield and protect the warmth from the growing cold of the world. She did not know what she expected to hear from the dream visitor, where finally the talk of runes was no longer the center of its mission and purpose. He spoke of a story, one of loss and despair. One of regret and one, she tried to see, of hope.

The world could be saved.

Where the dream visitor’s time was up, his choices made for better or worse, the inhabitants of this world could alter the course of history—could change what the dream visitor could not do.

She wasted no time turning toward that third door, walking through its warped, corrupted magic, and listening with flattened ears as the wolf itself cried and wailed in pain.

She knew that sound. She knew those cries. She knew what it was like to be forced into a position you did not deserve to be in, to be held against your will and tortured in a way that broke every fiber and strength left within one’s soul.

Her heart ached.

I am like you, she whispered numbly to herself, eyes glistening with the phantom promise of tears as she stared at that broken thing—wolf wrapped in his magical prison.

And her gaze turned toward the others, blue eyes watering, as she watched a handful of strangers rip and tear into the chains that bound the man. They could’ve killed him, she thought. He was, after all, responsible for the death and despair that was ruining their world.

And yet, they moved to save him.

She gave herself a tiny nod, one that encouraged her legs to move as she made her way toward the chains—toward the pulsing energy that made the hair along her spine stand in fear.

I will help you, she whispered once more, not knowing if the words were meant for the tortured soul in front of her…or for her own.

It did not matter in the end.

She would do her best to save him, just as she had tried to save herself.

Saela gripped those iron chains, riddled with a rhythmic magic that thrummed and vibrated her teeth as she latched on. And she pulled, ignoring the way the coolness of metal bled into her gums and into her bones with a feeling that she could only rightfully describe as death.

This could be all of their undoing.

And yet, it felt right.