At first, it was just the birds.
They used to sing at dawn, a chorus of chirps and whistles that woke us gently in Silverglen. But lately, they’d fallen quiet. I would stand outside our small cabin, Erya cradled against my chest, and listen to the eerie stillness. It felt wrong, like the air was holding its breath.
"Maybe it’s the season changing," Darius said when I ntioned it. "They’ll co back."
But the season hadn’t changed much. The sun still ward the trees, the breeze still slled of pine and wildflowers. Yet, sothing had shifted. The forest felt... watchful.
One morning, while gathering berries near the stream, I saw a deer. Not unusual—but this one stared straight at , eyes wide, unmoving, even as I approached. Its sides heaved like it had run for miles, but it didn’t bolt.
I slowly backed away, chilled to the bone. When I turned around to walk back, I heard a whisper. Not wind. A voice.
"Luciana..."
I froze.
"Who’s there?" I called out.
Nothing.
Only the trees swayed gently, as if nothing had happened.
I didn’t tell Darius that part.
I didn’t want him to think I was overreacting, especially not after all we’d been through. But that night, I barely slept. My dreams were dark and cold, filled with fog and shadows crawling under my skin.
In one dream, Erya stood in the middle of the clearing, howling. But it wasn’t a baby’s sound. It was deep, guttural—wrong. Her eyes glowed silver, and the land cracked beneath her feet.
I woke with a jolt, gasping. My skin was damp with sweat. I glanced over at Darius. He slept soundly, one arm across his chest, brow relaxed. Peaceful.
I envied that.
By the third day, things got worse.
Our food stores—dried ats, grains, herbs—began to rot. Not slowly, but overnight. Bags that had been sealed, jars that had been smoked or dried properly now swelled with mold and stench.
Darius furrowed his brows as he inspected them. "This shouldn’t happen," he muttered. "The storage room’s cool and dry. No animals got in. No sign of damage."
"I told you sothing’s wrong," I said quietly.
He looked up at , his eyes tired. "You think this is connected to the birds and that deer?"
"I know it is."
He shook his head slowly. "Luciana, we moved to Silverglen to start over. You’ve been on edge ever since we ca back from Nefang’s pack. You think this is so kind of curse?"
I hesitated. I didn’t want to say it. But deep down, I felt sothing had followed us—or awakened when we arrived.
"Do you rember what Mayla said?" I asked. "The dreams she had about cursed lands. She warned us."
"That was about Thornridge," he replied. "Not this place. This land was untouched. We tested it, we listened. We felt the peace."
I took a step closer, lowering my voice. "But what if peace wasn’t the sa as safety? What if sothing else was sleeping here, waiting?"
He looked at , and for the first ti in days, I saw the worry in his face. He wasn’t brushing it off anymore. He was scared.
That night, he stayed up to keep watch.
He thought I didn’t notice, but I did.
The fire crackled low as he sat by it, eyes sharp, Erya sleeping beside with her small fingers curled around mine.
Around midnight, I heard a noise.
Not from the trees—but from inside the cabin.
A low thud, like sothing dropped.
Darius was on his feet in seconds, stepping carefully toward the back storage room. I followed, my heart hamring in my chest. He opened the door slowly.
Nothing.
Except... one of the shelves had collapsed. Our herbs were scattered on the floor.
And in the dirt spilled across the wood, there were tracks.
Not from a mouse or a raccoon.
They were clawed. Deep. Almost like wolf paws—but too narrow, too wrong.
He crouched down, fingers tracing the mark.
"Do you sll that?" he whispered.
I nodded.
Rot. Damp. A faint sulfur scent.
We cleaned it up in silence.
That morning, I took Erya and walked to the northern edge of Silverglen, near the old rocks that shimred under moonlight. I sat on one and held her close, hoping to find clarity in the quiet.
But the quiet wasn’t comforting anymore.
It felt... hollow.
"I don’t know what’s coming," I whispered to her. "But I will protect you. No matter what."
She blinked up at , then reached out and touched my cheek.
That night, the whisper ca again in my dream.
"Luciana..."
But this ti, it wasn’t a voice I feared.
It sounded like a woman. Familiar. Sad.
"Who are you?" I asked in the dream.
No answer.
Just the wind.
I woke with tears on my cheeks.
Darius held my hand tightly in his, still asleep. I looked at him, feeling the weight of everything. This land had welcod us—or so we thought. But sothing ancient lived here too. And it was stirring.
Later that morning, we called the others.
The small group who had followed us when we left the pack gathered near the central stone ring. Rina, our fastest scout. Mikael, loyal and watchful. And Sora, the quiet healer who rarely spoke but always listened.
"We need to talk," I said. "Sothing’s wrong with this land."
They exchanged looks.
"We know," Sora said softly. "I’ve felt it. My herbs don’t grow right. The wolves avoid the stream. There’s... a hum in the soil."
"Why didn’t anyone say anything?" Darius asked.
"Because we hoped it would pass," Mikael replied. "Because we trusted this place to be our ho."
"But now it’s speaking," I said. "And we have to listen."
That night, we circled around the fire. No one spoke for a while.
Finally, Darius broke the silence.
"We ca here for peace," he said. "We have a child now. We can’t afford to ignore warnings."
"Do you think it’s a spirit?" Rina asked.
"Maybe," I said. "Or a force. Sothing older than us."
"What do we do?" Mikael asked.
"We don’t run," Darius said firmly. "Not unless we must. We face it. Together."
Sora nodded. "Then we start with the dreams. Luciana, tell us everything."
And I did.
From the deer to the spoiled food to the voice whispering in the dark.
The others shared their signs too. The unease. The strange weather shifts. Shadows moving when no one stood nearby.
When the fire burned low, we made a pact.
We would watch. We would listen. And if the land was testing us—we would not fail.
But deep in my bones, I feared this was no test.
It was a warning.
And we were already running out of ti.
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