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A dream. A door. A choice.

Snarling dismissively at the Visitor, Rook turned and leapt through the third portal. She shivered as the world twisted and warped around her. Air thickened. Voices, or wind, or the creak and groan of unearthly chains rasped around her.

On the other side of the door the island screamed, the land itself howling as hateful magic strained against its prison.

Her paws touched down on cracked stone, and moon-gold eyes settled on the tormented figure wreathed in chains—the betrayed god of Mythris. His pain bled into the ground and crackled through magic as arcs of blue light snapped and seared the air. His fury screamed even louder.

Pain split her skull, rekindled a thousand long-healed wounds. Rook shrieked. In one of those brief flickers of light, she saw herself mirrored. A wretched creature, tortured and bound, compelled by bloodlust. Pulled apart and remade.

It sent a thrill through her.

Would his blood taste sweeter with all that power running through his veins?

Cackling, Rook ignored the efforts of the other wolves. She darted forward, teeth flashing. Blue light rolled off her back like water, tinting midnight fur in shades of blue. The freezing air keened.

Does it hurt? Rook taunted, eyes wide and wild. She weaved between other bodies, darting away from any who might want to catch her, and hopped lightly past heavy lengths of chain. Poor, sad little worm, too weak to save yourself. Abandoned, left all alone in the dark. Another hair-raising laugh. Rook snapped at the air. Pathetic! I'll tear the flesh from your bones! I'll bleed you dry, and offer your heart to my Lord!

Slipping between the chains, Rook lunged at the bound wolf, aiming to kill.