The walls of the longhouse were thick with silence. Not heavy, not cold—just the kind of silence that settled into places that had stood too long, where every beam and stone had absorbed generations of words, laughter, anger, and regret.
Sylas sat on the edge of his low cot, the fur-wrapped coyote cub cradled in his lap, asleep again. A small fire crackled in the hearth on the far side of the room, casting orange light across the carved wooden beams overhead. Shadows danced across the wall, familiar outlines stretching and shrinking like ghost stories waiting to be told.
He stared at the flames, jaw tight, hands motionless.
He didn't know what he had expected. Yelling maybe. A demand to take the cub back where he found it. But Deren had said it with such finality, "You should have left it," that it landed heavier than a shout.
Because he wasn't wrong.
And yet... he hadn't.
The door creaked.
Sylas glanced up as Maren stepped into the room, her dark cloak draped loosely over her shoulders. Behind her, Nara slipped in with far less gravity, grinning as if she'd just snuck in to see a forbidden show.
"Still hiding your forbidden puppy?" she whispered, and Sylas gave her a look.
"Out," Maren said, but without venom. She took a seat on the low bench near the hearth, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
Nara flopped dramatically onto the floor, legs crossed and chin in her palms, right in the middle of the doorway. Half her body inside, the other half out.
"Out, but also in," she said. "I'm not missing the interrogation."
Maren didn't argue. She just turned to Sylas, her face unreadable in the firelight.
"You could've asked," she said.
Sylas frowned. "Would you have said yes?"
"No."
He snorted softly and looked down at the cub. It had burrowed into the blanket again, its ears twitching with each flick of the fire. Its chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
Maren's voice was quiet. "You're not wrong to care for it."
Sylas blinked. That wasn't what he'd expected either.
"But," she added, and there it was, "you didn't just find an animal. You found a symbol. One we've taught you to avoid."
"I didn't care what it meant," Sylas said.
"You should."
"I couldn't leave it," he said again, softer now.
"I know."
Nara rolled onto her back with a sigh. "This whole thing is ridiculous. It's just a cub. Not a god. Not a curse. Just a really, really skinny dog."
Sylas shot her a look. "It's not a dog."
"Then why does it smell like one?" she teased, scrunching her nose.
Maren ignored the exchange. "Tomorrow, you'll stand before the altar. You'll offer yourself, and the gods will choose to bestow their powers… or not."
Sylas stiffened. "You think they might not?"
"I don't know," Maren said. "None of us do. That's the point."
"Father thinks he knows."
Maren's eyes flicked toward the door. "Your father clings to what he understands. The Bear gave him a name. A role. That kind of clarity is… addictive."
Sylas didn't respond. The fire popped sharply.
"Do you want the Bear's mark?" Maren asked suddenly.
He looked up, startled. "I don't know what I want."
"That's honest," Maren said with a smirk
Nara raised her hand. "Can I be marked by a god who naps a lot? Like the Turtle or something? I feel like I'd thrive in a non-active role."
Maren gave her a dry look. "You've still got two years."
"Plenty of time to develop my legendary laziness," Nara said proudly.
Sylas smiled, but it was fleeting.
"What if I get nothing?" he said quietly.
Maren didn't answer right away. She stood and crossed the room, kneeling beside him. Her hand settled lightly on his shoulder.
"Then you're still my son. Still you. The mark doesn't change your worth."
"But it does change everything else."
"Yes," she admitted. "But not who you are."
There was no certainty in her eyes. But there was something better. A quiet defiance. A mother's love. Maybe that was better.
Maren reached out and stroked the cub's head gently. "Keep it hidden tomorrow," she said. "Don't bring more questions to the altar than you already carry."
Sylas nodded. "I wasn't planning to."
She moved toward the door, and Nara bounced to her feet, trailing behind her.
At the threshold, Nara turned and grinned. "If the coyote turns out to be a tiny god in disguise, you owe me ten deer jerky strips."
Sylas raised an eyebrow. "Why would I owe you?"
"Because I called it first," she said, ducking out before he could argue.
The door shut behind them, and silence returned.