“He knew the barriers would fail eventually,” Zane continues. “Our elders have prophesied it for generations. When the magic that divides worlds merges into one, the walls between realms must crumble.”
The phrasing catches my attention. “Aria and Dominic’s child,” I murmur.
He nods. “A true hybrid born of vampire and dragon blood. The child’s unified magic creates frequencies that dissolve separation-based spells.”
“You understand magical theory?” I ask, surprised.
A slight smile forms on his face. “Wild doesn’t mean ignorant, Ambassador. Our pack shamans studied barrier magic for centuries, searching for weaknesses.”
I feel sudden shame at my assumption. The council has consistently misjudged these people, viewing them as primitive when they’ve simply evolved differently.
We continue our journey, climbing a steep ridge. Looking down from the summit, I lose my breath at the view—the entire valley spread before us, from the settlements near the river to distant mountains. The landscape appears completely different from this vantage point.
“From here, our alphas have watched over clan territories for countless generations,” Zane says. “When the vampire-dragon wars erupted, our ancestors observed from this very spot, choosing to remain neutral rather than sacrifice pack members in others’ conflicts.”
He turns to me, his expression intense. “When the magical barriers went up, we weren’t consulted. The spell boundaries cut through the heart of our hunting grounds,separating families, trapping some behind walls of magic they couldn’t penetrate.”
“I didn’t know,” I admit quietly. “Our histories say the Wild Territories were created to protect primitive shifter clans who couldn’t adapt to civilization.”
“History written by victors,” Zane says bitterly. “The barriers imprisoned clans who refused to submit to dragon or vampire authority. Our neutrality was labeled savagery; our independence branded as primitive.”
This revelation staggers me. If true, it transforms the entire moral equation of our territorial dispute. The Shadow Wolves aren’t invaders—they’re returning refugees.
“Show me more,” I request, needing to grasp the full scope of what the council records have omitted.
Zane leads me to caves in the ridge’s far side. Inside, ancient pictographs cover the walls—wolves hunting, gathering, defending territories against bear and mountain lion clans. Generations of pack history preserved in ochre and charcoal.
“My ancestors sheltered here during the harshest winters,” he explains. “Pack stories were shared, traditions passed down, cubs born and named.”
I trace one image depicting wolves separated by a jagged line. “The barrier spell?”
He nods. “Nearly half our clan was trapped outside the Wild Territories. Those who remained free were hunted by dragon forces or captured for vampire blood sport. Most died rather than submit.”
The history fills the space between us—his people’s suffering caused by the very alliances my people celebrate. My diplomatic training offers no adequate response to a historical injustice of this magnitude.
We leave the caves in silence. I note the time has passedquickly—the sun now stands high overhead, warming the forest despite the season’s growing chill.
“There’s one more place,” Zane says quietly.
He guides me through dense underbrush until we reach a small clearing dominated by a crystal-clear spring. Stone wolf statues guard its perimeter, their features worn by centuries of weather but still recognizable.
“The Moon Spring,” Zane explains. “Sacred water that has nourished Shadow Wolves since our clan’s founding. Our shamans believed it connected to the spirit realm.”
I kneel beside the spring, drawn by its tranquil beauty. I watch the gentle ripples of water reflecting sunlight in hypnotic patterns.
“This is why you fight so hard for this territory,” I say, comprehension dawning fully. “It’s not just land—it’s your spiritual home.”
“Every rock, every tree, every stream holds our history,” Zane confirms. “For centuries, we’ve lived with only memories and stories of these places. Now we’ve returned, only to find strangers claiming what was never theirs to take.”
“The settlers don’t know this history. They believe they built homes on unclaimed wilderness.”
“Their ignorance doesn’t erase our claim,” he counters. “Would you surrender the council headquarters because an invader didn’t know its significance to your people?”
The question defies easy answers. Both sides hold legitimate grievances—the settlers who’ve built lives here for generations, the Shadow Wolves returning to sacred ancestral lands.
We sit beside the spring, the gentle sound of water creating a pocket of calm as I process everything I’ve learned. Zane remains silent, giving me space to think.
“Thank you for showing me this,” I finally say. “I understand your position better now.”
