It still didn't seem right- that the pack should be getting down to business so soon after the unthinkable tragedy. But if Phaeton could not bring himself to participate, as it were, then he was still obligated to help, and so the Magister swallowed his misgivings, administered herbs to the expectant mothers, did all he could to ensure the unborns' safety. He didn't tell anyone how tasteless he found the whole thing. He didn't raise any objection over this new generation of Vektreni who would never know their one true Herald.

The big day was upon them in no time, pup after pup brought into the fold, and he barely had time to think about it- but when the pups were all safely delivered and snug in the whelping den, a flash of white caught his attention. Phaeton stared at the pale thing. Though her eyes would not open for days still, he noted her bright pink flesh, hair so milky and fine it was almost translucent, totally devoid of pigment, and there could be no doubt in his mind. This puppy... this random offspring of Morrigan and some heathen outsider... was the spitting image of his divine sister Helh.

How could such a child be born now? She was not of the Herald's blood, there could be no more of the Herald's blood ever again, how could there possibly be another chosen one in Hekate's absence?! Transfixed on the sleeping babe, Phaeton felt as cold as ice. Deep down beneath his fur he shuddered.

What did this mean?