Nyra said nothing when she handed Raine the obsidian-bladed dagger.
Just a look.
A quiet warning.
"You want to stand where your mother once did?" Nyra asked, her voice low and sharp. "Then earn it. At dawn, you enter the Grove of Trials. Alone. No weapons, no mate, no allies."
Xavier stepped forward. "She's not ready—"
"She's more than ready," Nyra cut in. "Or she's not. The Grove doesn't lie."
At dawn, Raine walked barefoot through the crimson mist, her pendant dim and cold.
The Grove waited like a living thing—its trees crooked with time, vines twisting into wolves' shapes, watching.
A narrow stone path opened before her, lined with glowing runes.
The moment she stepped in, the air closed behind her like a wall.
Alone.
The Grove was quiet at first. Too quiet.
Then the ground pulsed beneath her feet.
And the illusions began.
She saw her mother, younger, wilder, covered in blood. Not regal. Not calm. But fierce.
"She failed us," said the image.
"No," Raine whispered.
"She begged the Council for peace. She knelt. Will you kneel too?"
"No."
The vision shattered.
Then another took its place—Xavier, lying broken, chained, tortured.
"Your bond is your weakness."
Her fingers trembled.
"No," she whispered again. "He's my strength."
The Grove cracked open, and from the earth rose a massive wolf-shaped spirit wreathed in silver fire—eyes glowing like stars.
It spoke in a voice that was many and one.
"Will you burn to protect what you love? Will you carry the flame of the Sovereign—even if it consumes you?"
Raine didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
The fire surged toward her.
She screamed—but did not run.
Pain, then clarity. Light, then shadow.
And then she opened her eyes.
She stood outside the Grove, the dawn barely touching the trees.
Xavier ran to her. "Raine—!"
But he stopped.
There was a mark on her arm now—etched like fire into her skin. A glowing sigil of a wolf wrapped in flame.
Nyra stepped out of the shadows.
"She passed," she said softly. "The Grove accepts her."
A pause.
"And now… so will we."