Ride For Me, Die For Me.

Chapter Nine: Roots of the Old Ones

Justin’s P.O.V

The dirt path cracked beneath Justin’s boots as he walked beside Waiya, the scent of pine and damp soil curling in the air like incense from another world. Branches clawed at the sky above them, thick and knotted, blocking out most of the moonlight. Only slivers of it bled through, falling across her face like war paint.

She looked like something pulled from a half-forgotten dream — all sharp edges and sacred fire. And she didn’t even realize it.

Justin exhaled slowly, hands in the pockets of his jacket as they trekked deeper into the woods. Every step took them further from the city, further from that burned-out church and the sigil feeding on her back. But this place wasn’t safer. Just older. Hungrier in a different kind of way.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low.

Waiya glanced over. “I’m walkin’, ain’t I?”

He chuckled. “You mean stomping.”

“I got places to be,” she said, brushing a spiderweb from her braid. “And trees to cuss out if they touch my face again.”

Justin smirked, eyes flicking to her silhouette as she moved. “Aight, Wolf. Calm down before you offend the forest spirits.”

“I’ll offend whoever I need to. I ain’t ask to be marked. Ain’t ask to be hunted.”

He nodded once, serious now. “But you walked into the fire anyway.”

She went quiet.

That was something he liked about her — not just the bite in her words, but the weight underneath them. She didn’t pretend like s**t didn’t hurt. She just carried it different. Like her bones had made peace with pain a long time ago.

They reached a curve in the path where the trees thinned, revealing a break in the canopy. A soft blue light pulsed ahead, slow and rhythmic, like the heartbeat of something ancient.

Waiya slowed.

“That’s them,” Justin said, voice low. “The Grove.”

She didn’t move.

“You okay?” he asked again.

She looked up at him, her eyes steady and dark. “You sure they gon’ help me?”

“I wouldn’t bring you if I wasn’t.”

She studied his face a moment longer, then nodded.

They stepped through the clearing together, the air shifting the moment they crossed the threshold. Warmer. Thicker. Like honey and smoke.

And then — they were not alone.

Figures emerged from the shadows between the trees. Not walking. Not quite floating. Just appearing. Their skin was earth-toned, dusted with ash and markings carved deep with meaning. Some wore antlers. Others had vines wrapped around their arms like jewelry. None of them spoke.

Justin stopped and bowed his head.

Waiya did the same, though slower. Hesitant.

The tallest figure stepped forward. Her eyes were black from lid to lid, like twin voids. When she spoke, it wasn’t English or Diné. It was older than both. But Justin understood.

“She carries a scar that breathes,” the ancient one said. “One that drinks from her spirit.”

Justin lifted his head. “We came to close the door.”

The figure moved closer to Waiya, staring at her like reading a book only she could see.

“She was chosen.”

Waiya tensed.

“I didn’t choose anything,” she said.

“You were claimed,” the ancient replied. “And now… the ground remembers.”

Before Waiya could answer, another figure stepped forward — smaller, cloaked in moss. She reached toward Waiya’s back, pausing inches away.

“May we see?”

Justin gently touched Waiya’s wrist. “It’s okay. They won’t harm you.”

Waiya didn’t flinch, just lifted the back of her hoodie.

The moment the mark was exposed, the ground beneath them pulsed.

Not shook — pulsed. Like a heartbeat echoing through the dirt.

The ancient ones all took a step back in unison.

“It grows stronger,” one said.

“Too strong for a simple closing,” said another.

Justin stepped forward. “So what do we do?”

There was silence.

Then the first ancient — the tall one with black eyes — stepped forward again. “To close a door, you must know what lies behind it.”

Waiya’s voice was hard. “You saying I gotta face whatever’s on the other side?”

The woman nodded. “Not just face it. Name it. Bind it.”

Justin clenched his jaw. That was deeper than he’d hoped. But he should’ve known. Nothing about her was simple.

One of the ancients turned to him now. “And you, shadow-walker… why do you walk beside her?”

Justin glanced at Waiya.

She didn’t look at him, but she didn’t pull away either.

“I don’t walk beside her because I have to,” he said. “I do it because I can’t not.”

The ancient tilted her head. “Even knowing the weight she carries?”

Justin nodded once. “My soul ain’t felt peace in years. Not until her. That means something.”

Waiya turned now, her gaze sharp — surprised.

But she didn’t say anything.

The ancient ones whispered among themselves in a tongue that sounded like wind moving through stone.

Then the tall one spoke again. “We will guide you. But only she can walk the vision path. You must wait here.”

Justin exhaled slowly. “Understood.”

The old woman touched Waiya’s forehead gently. “Follow the river inside you. You’ll know when you’ve reached the door.”

And just like that, everything shifted.

The grove blurred. The air folded in on itself.

And Waiya collapsed.

But not like falling. Like being pulled.

Her body hit the forest floor, still breathing. Still whole.

Justin dropped to his knees beside her. “Waiya—”

“Let her walk,” one of the ancients said. “Do not follow.”

Justin’s fists clenched against the soil. He hated being helpless. But he wasn’t just any man. He understood spirit work. Understood that this part — this moment — had to be hers.

Still, he watched her like a man watching a sun eclipse.

She looked peaceful. And powerful. And too damn far away all at once.

He reached into his jacket, pulled out the silk cloth with the obsidian, the feather, and the bone. Held it between his palms.

“Don’t get lost in there, baby,” he whispered, not caring who heard. “Come back. We got s**t to finish.”

He closed his eyes and began to hum an old protection song he’d learned long ago — not from the Grove, but from an elder in Louisiana who once told him, “If you love a woman who walks between worlds, you better learn to call her soul home.”

So he did.

Note by note.

Humming until the trees hushed, until even the ancients fell silent, listening.

And under the weight of their eyes, Justin kept going, because loving her — even this early — wasn’t just a choice.

It felt like destiny with dirt under its nails.