Chapter 8 The Journey
Kaelan led his contingent southward, the northern wind slicing through his cloak as dawn stretched pale gold across the sky. Frost clung to the edges of their cloaks, catching the early light like tiny shards of glass. Every snapped twig sounded too sharp, too intentional. Even the horses sensed it ears twitching, hooves striking the frozen ground with restless agitation.
The forest felt tense. Listening. Waiting. Caius’ summons had been simple on paper. A celebration. A gathering of Alphas. Your presence required. But Kaelan had lived long enough to know that invitations were sometimes just weapons dressed in diplomacy.
Rhylen rode beside him, eyes scanning the shifting shadows like a scout expecting ambush. “Storm’s wrong today,” he murmured, stroking his horse’s neck. “Feels like the air’s holding a secret.”
Kaelan didn’t answer. He felt it too the pressure in the wind, the vibration beneath the earth, the unease coiled in his wolf. The world wasn’t still. It was bracing. Rhylen tried again. “Still thinking about Evermoon?”
Kaelan’s jaw tightened. Evermoon’s fall had mirrored Ashborne’s with chilling precision swift, silent, and merciless. Villages didn’t vanish without so much as a dying howl unless something monstrous moved behind the scenes.
“If their killer moved once,” Kaelan murmured, “they’ll move again.” “And yet,” Rhylen said, “you’re walking straight into a southern gathering. You know this could be a trap.” “That’s why I’m going,” Kaelan replied. His voice was a low, steady blade. “I need to see who’s playing this game.”
The forest deepened around them, thick with old magic. Trees rose taller, roots twisting like ancient serpents across the soil. Sunlight broke through the branches in thin fragments, scattering pale patterns across their path. Birds cried distantly sharp, startled notes that made Kaelan’s wolf lift its head.
But beneath the forest’s pulse lay another feeling one Kaelan had spent years burying under duty, rage, and grief. A pull. A spark. A presence. Elara. Her name alone felt like a wound reopening. He had searched for her among the ruins of Ashborne until his hands bled.
He had never found her body. He had never felt her death through the bond. For nine long years, that silence had tormented him more than any grave could have.
Now the bond stirred subtle at first, then unfurling with a slow, undeniable certainty. Alive. Persistent. Insistent. His wolf snapped to attention, as if shaken awake.
Rhylen caught the shift in Kaelan’s expression. “Kaelan,” he said quietly, “your mate. That message”
“It’s real,” Kaelan said. The admission felt like a storm cracking open inside him. His wolf surged forward with raw need, snarling with something like joy and fury tangled together.
She’s alive. Rhylen swore under his breath. “Then we move faster. If someone else knows about her…” Kaelan didn’t waste another heartbeat. “We ride.”
They pushed forward at a grueling pace. Hours blurred into a steady rhythm of pounding hooves and shallow breaths. The northern wind gave way to the heavier, warmer air of the south thick with ancient energy and the remnants of dormant magic.
The forest changed as they crossed deeper into southern territory. Older trees. Older shadows. Older history. The air vibrated with something Kaelan couldn’t name a thrum beneath the earth, an old heartbeat awakening.
Then movement flickered through the trees. Five riders emerged in silence, cloaked and faceless, their presence precise and deliberate. Their horses were restless, stamping the ground with urgency.
Kaelan raised a hand, halting his warriors. The lead rider approached, voice eerily calm. “Alpha Kaelan. I bring a warning.”
Kaelan’s eyes narrowed. “From whom?” “A patron who prefers to remain unseen.”
He tossed a scroll sealed with black wax. Kaelan caught it. Even before he broke the seal, the energy radiating from it made his wolf bristle. Inside, the message was stark. Your mate awaits the southern Alpha’s hall. But so do your enemies. Evermoon was only the beginning. Kaelan folded the message with deliberate care, though his pulse roared like a war drum.
His mate was close. Alive. Within reach. “Double pace,” Kaelan commanded. “We reach the southern gates before nightfall.”
“Kaelan,” Rhylen warned, “if someone doesn’t want you there” “No.” Kaelan’s voice cut through the air. “We ride.” Because nothing no enemy, no danger, no prophecy mattered more than reaching her.
The forest tightened around them as dusk bled into the sky. Southern sigils began to glow faintly on stone arches, guiding their path toward the heart of the territory. The gates loomed ahead tall, carved with runes, guarded by disciplined warriors whose eyes lingered on Kaelan’s group with a mixture of caution and recognition.
Kaelan dismounted, his boots striking the ground with purpose. And then it hit him a scent drifting from beyond the threshold. Silver. Pine. And something bright and wild that had lived in his memories for nine years.
His wolf lunged inside him, claws scraping, teeth bared in desperate recognition. Kaelan’s breath left him in a harsh exhale. She was here. Here.
The gates groaned open, spilling warm golden light across him, illuminating the path inward. The pull intensified no longer a whisper but a command etched into his bones. Somewhere inside… she waited. Elara. The bond pulsed once, sharp and alive, like a heartbeat syncing with his own.
Tonight, he would see her. Tonight, he would face the girl he thought had died. Tonight, fate would close its fist around them both.
And nothing not secrets, not enemies, not the shadows hunting them would end quietly.
