The Forest Remembers.
1160 Words
Caspian’s POV
I woke before dawn.
Not because of a nightmare. Not because of noise. Just a feeling—sharp and insistent—like someone had called my name without using sound.
The room was still. Aurora lay beside me, facing the window, her breathing slow and even. Moonlight washed over her features, softening them. In sleep, she looked younger.
Less guarded.
For a moment, I allowed myself to simply watch her.
Marriage still felt unreal. The weight of it hadn’t settled yet. I knew it would—responsibility always did—but right now it hovered just out of reach, like fog. I slipped out of bed quietly and dressed.
The forest was calling.
That wasn’t a poetic thought. It was literal. My wolf stirred restlessly under my skin, pulling me toward the trees like a tide I’d learned never to ignore.
Outside, the air was cool and damp. Dawn hadn’t broken yet, but the sky was lightening slowly, shadows thinning. I crossed the edge of the estate and stepped into the forest without hesitation.
This land knew me.
I grew up here. I learned to hunt here. Bled here. The forest had always responded to me—subtle shifts, familiar scents, a sense of belonging.
Today, it felt wrong.
Too quiet.
Birds usually stirred at this hour. Leaves rustled. Small animals moved through the underbrush. But now? Nothing. Not even insects.
I knelt and pressed my palm against the earth.
Cold. Colder than it should have been.
A faint vibration pulsed beneath my hand, barely noticeable, like the ground was holding its breath.
“Alright,” I muttered. “What are you trying to tell me?”
No answer.
But something had changed.
By the time I returned to the estate, the sun had fully risen. Staff were beginning to move again, cleaning remnants of the wedding, restoring the place to its usual pristine state.
Aurora was awake when I entered the room, sitting by the window with a cup of tea.
“You disappeared,” she said calmly.
“So did you,” I replied, nodding at the empty side of the bed.
She smiled faintly. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
I studied her face. No tension. No visible stress. She looked composed, as always.
“The forest is quiet,” I said.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup.
“Quiet how?”
“Wrong,” I answered. “You feel it too.”
She hesitated, then nodded once. “Yes.”
That was something.
We dressed in silence. Not awkward. Just heavy.
Later, during breakfast, my father announced that a patrol had failed to return overnight. Three wolves. Experienced trackers.
No alarm. No panic. Just a pause that lasted a little too long.
“They likely extended their search,” he said.
My grandmother said nothing. She only stirred her tea slowly, eyes distant.
I caught her gaze.
She knew.
I found Ember near the edge of the estate after breakfast. She stood alone, staring into the trees like she was afraid they might look back.
“You didn’t sleep,” I said.
She startled, then sighed. “I didn’t think anyone would notice.”
“You were shaking yesterday.”
She crossed her arms. “You shouldn’t talk to me.”
“I’m going to, anyway.”
She gave a humorless laugh. “Figures.”
We stood there for a moment, the forest looming quietly in front of us.
“You saw something,” I said.
Her jaw tightened.
“Did you see someone who looked like me?” I asked carefully.
She closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
That single word landed hard.
“Where?” I asked.
“In the forest,” she whispered. “Three days ago.”
My pulse spiked. “That’s not possible.”
“I know,” she snapped. “That’s why I didn’t say anything. I thought I was tired. Or stressed. Or imagining things.”
“But?”
“But he looked exactly like you,” she said. “Same face. Same build. Same voice.”
My mouth went dry.
“He didn’t act like you,” she continued. “He smiled wrong. Like he was copying something he didn’t fully understand.”
I thought of the journals. Of the witches’ warnings. Dual faces.
“Did Aurora know?” I asked.
Ember’s eyes flicked up sharply. “I think she knows more than she lets on.”
Before I could respond, Aurora’s voice cut through the tension.
“There you are.”
She approached calmly, eyes moving between us.
“Ember,” she said gently. “You look exhausted.”
“I am,” Ember replied.
Aurora turned to me. “The elders want you at the council chamber.”
Of course they did.
I glanced at Ember. “We’ll finish this.”
Her expression said she wasn’t sure that was possible.
Aurora’s POV
I shouldn’t have interrupted them.
But letting Ember speak unchecked was dangerous.
She didn’t understand what she’d seen—not fully. And Caspian… Caspian was too close to the truth already.
The council chamber felt colder than usual. Stone walls. Long table. Faces that had ruled packs for generations.
They spoke in careful terms. Missing patrols. Forest instability. Old signs returning.
No one said mirror world out loud.
But everyone was thinking about it.
When the meeting ended, Caspian stayed behind with my grandmother.
I waited outside.
I hated waiting.
That afternoon, the forest shifted again.
I felt it while walking the grounds. A sudden pressure behind my eyes. A ripple in the air. Like reality hiccupped.
I stopped.
Someone stood between the trees.
At first glance, it looked like Caspian.
My stomach dropped.
Then he stepped forward—and I knew.
This version moved differently. Too smooth. Too sure. Like he didn’t belong to gravity the same way.
He smiled.
“Hello, Aurora.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said quietly.
“But I am,” he replied. “You made sure of that.”
My hands trembled at my sides. “You’re not him.”
He tilted his head. “No. But I’m close enough.”
The forest darkened around us, shadows stretching unnaturally.
“You can’t keep both worlds balanced forever,” he continued. “Something has to give.”
“I know,” I said.
“And when it does,” he smiled wider, “who do you think he’ll choose?”
Before I could answer, the air snapped back into place. He was gone.
The forest returned to normal.
I stood there alone, heart pounding.
The bond had been sealed.
The other side was no longer waiting.
………….
That night, Caspian held me closer than usual.
I rested my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, steady and real.
I loved him. That part was true.
But love wasn’t protection.
And the forest had begun to remember what it was owed…..
- Writer
