The spirit path was colder this ti. I felt it the mont Orrin placed his hand on my forehead and whispered the chant that loosened my soul from flesh. There was no gentle drift, no floating through warmth and light. My spirit was pulled like a thread through a storm—tugged by urgency, by fear, by a whisper I didn’t recognize until I landed.
Wind howled through pine trees. I blinked into fog. A familiar fog. This was Thornridge, or at least the echo of it. I stood on the edge of the forest, not far from the old council hall. But everything was washed in grey, dimr than I rembered. As if the place had aged in my absence, and the spirit realm had preserved its sorrow.
Still, I could hear voices inside. And one of them made my chest ache.
"She abandoned the pack!"
A male voice—rough, full of bitterness. I stepped closer, every part of tense.
"She didn’t abandon anyone!" Darius shouted.
I moved until I could peer through the wall. In the spirit realm, barriers of wood and stone were like mist. I passed through them easily and saw him.
Darius stood at the center of the room, fists clenched. His jaw was tight. His dark hair had grown longer, brushing his collar. His eyes—those steady eyes I once knew so well—were tired, shadowed. But they burned with a fire that hadn’t gone out.
Around him stood the council. Four elders, dressed in dark cloaks. And one of them, the one who had shouted, was Jeran. A wolf who had never trusted .
"She chased dreams and fairy tales! We haven’t heard from her in moons. The warriors are restless. The borderlands are unstable. And the people—they’re afraid."
"She’s doing what none of us could," Darius growled. "Facing what we refused to."
"She’s facing ghosts! While we live in danger."
Another councilwoman—Mira, the eldest—shook her head slowly. "Darius. We respected your bond with her. But your loyalty is tearing this pack apart."
He took a step forward. "Do you think I don’t feel torn? Do you think I don’t miss her every mont of every day?"
His voice broke. And sothing in broke with it.
"She went because she had to. Because I let her. Because she believed in sothing bigger than herself."
There was silence. The kind that choked.
Then Jeran crossed his arms. "And what if she never returns? What if she fails? We’ve been patient. Too patient. Now it’s ti for change."
Mira sighed, long and low. "We are preparing a vote."
Darius looked up. "A vote?"
"To determine if you are still fit to lead."
My breath caught. I wanted to scream. To pound on the walls and tell them they were wrong. That he was trying to protect them all, even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt.
But I was a ghost here.
He laughed bitterly. "I see. So it’s finally co to that."
"You’ve let your heart blind you," Jeran said. "And it will be our undoing."
"No," Darius said. His voice was quiet but steady. "It’s your fear that will be our undoing."
He turned away then, walking toward the back of the hall. He passed right through , though I knew he couldn’t see . Still, his nearness stirred sothing deep inside.
I followed him. Outside, he stopped at the base of the great tree where we had once carved our initials as teens. The bark had healed over, but if you looked closely, the lines were still there. A mory pressed into wood.
His hand brushed the surface.
"Where are you, Luciana?" he whispered.
I reached for him. My hand passed through his shoulder.
"I’m here," I said, though he couldn’t hear.
He stared up at the moon, his face filled with pain.
"They don’t understand. But I still believe in you. Even now. Even if it costs everything."
Tears stung my eyes.
How many nights had he stood here? How many prayers had he whispered into the dark while the pack whispered behind his back?
I wanted to stay. To keep watching. To reach out and tell him he wasn’t alone. But a sharp pull tugged at my soul.
The spirit realm was reclaiming .
My vision blurred. The mist thickened.
I caught one last glimpse of him before I was torn away, yanked back through the cold void between worlds.
---
I woke gasping.
Orrin stood over , one hand steady on my chest.
"You stayed too long," he said calmly. "You nearly lost the thread."
My throat was dry. My hands shook. I sat up slowly, the world around spinning.
"I saw him," I said. "Darius. They want to remove him."
Orrin nodded. "And now you understand. Your journey is not just for you. It never was."
I closed my eyes. The image of Darius, alone beneath the moon, carved itself into my mory. The way his shoulders sagged. The rawness in his voice.
"They’re losing faith in him. Because of ."
"Because they fear what they do not understand," Orrin said. "They forget the old ways."
I pressed my palm to the ground. The soil was cool. Steadying.
"What do I do now?"
"You train," Orrin said. "You prepare. Because when the ti cos, you must return not as a seeker—but as the answer."
I nodded. My fear hadn’t left. But now I knew what it looked like. The faces of doubt. The weight Darius carried.
I would carry it with him.
And I would return with fire in my soul.
---
Later that night, I sat by the Vale’s edge, the moon shining above . The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the scent of moss and magic. The stillness here had always comforted . But tonight, it humd with anticipation.
The guardian bird landed on a branch nearby, its feathers shimring like moonlight on water. It watched with calm, ancient eyes.
"You saw your ho," it said. Its voice echoed in my mind like music on the wind.
"I did."
"And your heart?"
I pressed a hand to my chest. "Still heavy. But stronger."
The bird tilted its head. "Then you are ready for the next path. The one that leads not through shadow\... but through fire."
"Fire?" I echoed, uncertain.
"To rebuild what has burned, you must first walk through the blaze. The council doubts him. The people falter. But you—Luciana—you must rise."
I looked down at my hands. Calloused. Scarred. Stronger than they had once been.
"How will I know when it’s ti to return?"
"You’ll feel it," the bird said. "Like thunder beneath your ribs. Like the forest holding its breath."
I turned my gaze to the moon. My holand was falling into doubt.
But I would rise.
For them.
For him.
For all of us.
And when I returned, I would not co quietly.
I would co as the storm.
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