Chapter 216 EIRA

Before me, the treetops of the forest stretch endlessly, blackly silent in a way that’s unnervingly quiet. The shouting and laughter of the festival grew ever more indistinct as I stood at the edge of the trees, clenching and unclenching my fists at my sides. The air is different here, heavier. My senses tingle with unease as some faint, unfamiliar scent wafts on the wind.

I move a little closer, the cool earth under my bare feet. The smell grows in strength, with something sharp and metallic to it.

“Something’s not right,” I mutter to myself, my heart pounding.

A rustling sound arrests my attention in the deeper shadows of the forest. I froze, my breath caught in my throat, and strained to listen. The faint sound of laughter at the festival is miles away now; the silence of the woods swallowed them.

It has been weeks since the grove was rejuvenated. Broken Ridge is now teeming with life, and the crops are plentiful; the pack was filled with strength. On the surface, everything looks perfect, but that feeling of…

I’ve tried to disregard it and get myself lost in the joyous celebrations. The festival tonight was supposed to start things anew, to finally leave what was behind us, behind us. But here, peering into this darkness, I have that feeling that something is watching me.

The pack is alive with joy back at the festival, the music in the night air, the flickering light of the fires casting warm shadows across smiling faces. Aurora floats with ease from group to group; her bright, genuine peals of laughter rise into the night air. She is lighter somehow, despite it all.

I stand at the edge of the group, far enough away to watch the celebration but not join in. I have kept to myself since the grove’s restoration. The others seem to have found peace, but to me, it feels fleeting, a fragile thread waiting to snap.

The wind shifts, carrying that same sharp scent from the forest. My stomach churns. I glance back at the dark horizon, my instincts screaming at me to turn away.

But I can’t.

I slip away from the festivities and move away, my footsteps light and deliberate. As I approach the edge of the forest, the scent grows stronger, distinctive.

The first howl slices through the air, a low, mournful sound that raises every hair on my body. I spin around, eyes scanning the horizon, but I can see nothing to give a target to the sound.

“Who’s there?” I called, my voice even if I am not.

Only rustling leaves and then another howl, an answer, this one closer.

It’s sharper in the smell once I step into the treeline. My wolf senses flare in warning, but my curiosity pushes me forward.

My eyes catch the faint markings on a tree trunk: deeply etched claw marks into the bark. I run my fingers over them, a cold shiver running down my spine.

The marks pulse faintly, almost as if alive, and a sickening realization dawns on me. These are no ordinary scratches; these are symbols.

I stumble backward. My breathing quickens while my heartbeat picks up, and the pieces start to fall into place. The grove might be healed, but in the process, something else has awakened.

I spin and run. My feet barely touch the ground, and I race back toward the packhouse. The lights of the festival come into view, but my relief is short-lived.

Distant howls follow me, growing louder, more insistent.

I burst into the clearing, and the joyful atmosphere freezes. All eyes settle on me, their laughter stilled by my sudden entrance.

“Eira, what is it? What’s wrong?”

I try to speak, but the words catch in my throat. I am breathing in short gasps, those pulsating marks seared into my brain.

“Eira,” Aurora repeats, a bite to her tone now. “Speak up. Who’s coming?”

“Shadows,” I finally force out in a strangled voice. “They’re coming. Echoes of the past… the Forgotten.”

The crowd ripples with unease; the whispers spread like a brushfire. Aurora’s eyes go wide as she looks at Dane, who has already stepped forward, his face grim.

“Get her to the healer,” Dane says, steady as always, yet urgent. “We need answers.”

Aurora nods and pulls me out of the crowd, and my legs now threaten to fold under me; my only means of standing is by her.

It is quite bright in this room with the flame of fire darting and thereby casting long shadows along the walls.

Aurora sits next to me; her hand lies on mine, “You have to tell us everything,” she says, soft and with firmness in her tone.

I close my eyes, trying to clear my head. “The grove,” I begin. “Healing it… it didn’t just lift the curse. It woke something up. A pack… of wolves, forgotten long ago during Kael’s time. They called themselves the Forgotten.”

Aurora’s brow furrows. “Never heard of them.”

“Few have,” I answer. “They were exiled for their dangerous beliefs. They thought the grove’s power should be used to dominate, to destroy. When they were exiled, they vanished… or so we thought.”

Dane steps closer, his arms crossed over his chest. “And now they’re back?”

I nod, and the weight settles heavily upon me. “They’ve been waiting. Watching. And now that the grove is restored, they want its power.”

Aurora and Dane exchange a look, their faces stone.

“We can’t just sit here and wait for whatever is coming,” he says. “If they’re after the grove, we need to be ready.”

“I saw signs in the woods,” I say, and my voice breaks. “Carved into the trees, but they were… pulsing, with energy. It’s them. I know it.”

Dane doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll investigate the forest. Aurora, stay here with Eira and alert the pack. If they’re as dangerous as she says, we need to be ready.”

Aurora reaches for his arm. “Be careful,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, setting his jaw solidly.

As Dane vanishes into the night, Aurora turns back to me. “What else can you tell me about them?” she asks.

“I heard stories growing up... whispered in hushed tones. They were brutal, ruthless. They twisted the grove's magic for their own dark purposes. They thought this grove belonged to them and wouldn’t quit until they finally got it.”

The corners of her lips curl further down. “Then we shall not let that happen.”

The cheering of the festival has long since dissolved into the low hum of apprehension that spreads throughout the pack. Wolves cluster together, all eyes darting nervously to the forest.

Pinned beneath this scrutiny, the minutes tick into eternity while we wait for Dane to return.

It isn’t until much later, after he finally steps into the opening, face pale, eyes rimmed with an urgent message. “We have a problem,” he says, holding up a piece of bark with the same pulsing marks I saw on the trees.

Before he gets anything else out, Trajan bursts into the packhouse, his face white.

“It’s too late,” he whispers, trembling. “They’re already here!”