Chapter twelve
949 Words
The climb out of the valley was steeper than it had looked from above.
Roots clawed through the soil like grasping fingers, and the ground grew colder beneath my boots with every step upward. The forest thinned as we gained elevation, trees giving way to wind-bent pines and slabs of exposed stone etched with half-erased symbols.
Old paths.
Not roads—intentions.
Kael moved ahead of me now, not because he was leading, but because the land demanded it. I felt it in the way the bond adjusted, subtle and responsive, like it was learning new rules alongside me.
“You’re quiet,” he said without turning.
“I’m listening,” I replied.
That earned a huff of dry amusement. “To what?”
“The ground,” I said, then grimaced. “That sounded mad, didn’t it?”
“No,” Kael said after a moment. “It sounded accurate.”
The wind shifted.
I froze.
Not from fear—recognition.
The Mark pulsed once, sharp and directional, tugging my attention westward. Not danger exactly. Presence.
Kael felt it too. He slowed, shoulders tightening. “We’re not alone.”
“I know,” I said.
We crested a narrow rise, and the land opened into a broad shelf of rock overlooking the lower passes. From here, the highlands spread out like a scarred spine—ravines cutting deep, old stone markers half-buried, watchfires long dead but not forgotten.
And there—at the far edge of the pass—
Movement.
Not rushing. Not hiding.
A small group. Three, maybe four shapes picking their way up the trail we’d just abandoned.
Too deliberate to be scouts.
Too slow to be hunters.
Kael swore softly. “They felt you.”
“They followed the echo,” I said, the words slipping out before I could think.
He looked at me sharply. “That’s not how it works.”
“Isn’t it?” I asked.
The Mark warmed again, not flaring, not straining—settling. Like something fitting into place.
“They aren’t here to attack,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“Because they’re afraid,” I answered. “And curious.”
That stopped him.
Kael studied the figures below, jaw tight. “Curiosity gets people killed.”
“Only if they don’t learn fast enough.”
He turned to me fully then, eyes dark and searching. “This isn’t a test. If you’re wrong—”
“I won’t be,” I said quietly.
The confidence surprised us both.
The group below came into clearer view as they reached the first stone marker. Two men, one woman, and a younger wolf barely out of adolescence. Their clothes bore no single clan’s colours—patched leathers, old insignia cut away or worn down. Drifters.
Unclaimed.
The woman at their front stopped abruptly.
She lifted her head.
And looked straight at me.
Even at this distance, I felt it—the moment recognition snapped into place. Not the Mark this time. Something older.
Respect.
She raised a hand, palm open.
Not surrender.
Permission.
“They want audience,” I murmured.
Kael’s lips pressed into a hard line. “You don’t owe them anything.”
“No,” I agreed. “But they might owe the world something.”
I stepped forward before he could argue, boots scraping against stone as I moved into clear view.
The wind caught my hair, tugging it loose from its tie. The Mark flared visibly now—no pain, just light, a pale lunar glow beneath my skin that reflected faintly off the rock.
The young wolf below gasped.
The woman dropped to one knee.
Kael stiffened. “Don’t.”
“I’m not asking them to kneel,” I said.
As if hearing me, the woman rose immediately, eyes sharp with embarrassment and resolve.
Good.
I projected my voice—not shouting, but grounding it, letting the land carry it the way the ash-cloaked woman’s voice had earlier.
“You followed,” I said. “That choice has consequences.”
The woman inclined her head. “So does not following.”
Fair.
Kael leaned close, low and urgent. “We don’t know them.”
“They know enough,” I said softly. “They cut their colours.”
Below, the woman spoke again. “We felt the shift. The old call. Some of us remember the stories.”
“Stories lie,” Kael called back coldly.
“They do,” she agreed. “But they also warn.”
I took another step forward, standing at the edge of the stone shelf where there was no height advantage—only honesty.
“If you came looking for a leader,” I said, “you’re early.”
A ripple passed through them—confusion, relief, disappointment.
“If you came looking for permission,” I continued, “you’re too late.”
The woman’s eyes brightened.
“And if you came looking for truth,” I finished, “then you can stand there and listen. Or walk away now.”
Silence.
Then, one by one, they nodded.
Kael exhaled slowly through his nose. “You’re doing this.”
“I am,” I said.
He didn’t argue.
He stepped to my side.
The bond anchored again—not possession. Choice.
Behind us, far off and higher in the mountains, another howl answered the first.
Closer this time.
I met Kael’s gaze, the weight of what was coming settling fully into my bones.
“They’re waking up,” he said.
“Yes,” I replied.
And below us, at the edge of the old world’s bones, the first witnesses waited to see what would rise with them.
- Writer
