A soft golden hue seeped through the canopy, threading itself between pine needles and bare branches. The first light of dawn kissed the earth gently, but Aurora did not stir at its warmth. Curled at the base of a pine tree, her arms hugged tightly around her legs, her forehead resting on her knees. Sleep had come not as comfort but as collapse—fitful and dreamless, a fragile thread holding her together.
Her eyes fluttered open, red-rimmed and heavy. Everything ached. Her limbs felt like stone, her chest hollow. For a few moments, she stared blankly at the forest floor, the scent of moss and cold earth thick in her nose.
Then came the memories—sharp and sudden, as if they'd only just happened. Kieran's words, the ceremonial fire, the crowd's stunned silence. Her rejection replayed in cruel clarity. She clenched her jaw, her nails digging into her arms once again. But the tears didn't come this time.
She had none left to give.
Aurora forced herself upright, her movements sluggish. Dirt clung to her skin, and her hair, wild and tangled, framed her face like a storm cloud. She stood barefoot in the dew-soaked grass, drawing in a shaky breath. A thin mist had settled over the forest, curling between tree trunks like silver smoke. It moved strangely, as if it had a will of its own.
A faint rustling broke the stillness.
She froze, every nerve alert. Her ears strained to catch more—footsteps? The wind?
The forest had shifted.
Aurora turned in a slow circle. She knew these woods. Grew up in them. They were part of her, and yet… something felt off. Unfamiliar. A chill raced down her spine, and her wolf stirred within, cautious and coiled like a spring.
Then, through the haze, she saw him.
A large wolf stood across the clearing, half-shrouded in mist. His coat was midnight dark, almost iridescent in the early light. His eyes were what struck her—piercing, intelligent, and strangely… familiar. Not because she knew him, but because they looked at her like they did.
She didn't move. Neither did he.
Minutes passed—or maybe seconds, time lost meaning again.
Then slowly, the wolf shifted. Bones cracked, limbs stretched, and within a breath, a man stood where the beast had been. He was tall, powerfully built, with tousled black hair and sharp, angular features. His bare chest rose and fell evenly, as though he had been expecting her.
Aurora's heart pounded. She didn't shift. She didn't speak.
The stranger tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle he already half-understood.
"You're not who they think you are," he said, his voice low, rough like river stones beneath water. "And neither am I."
***
Back home, the search had continued. The forest loomed before her like a riddle refusing to be solved.
Lyra crouched at the edge of the tree line, her fingers brushing the broken ferns where a light pawprint had been etched into the soil. It was faint, half-erased by the morning dew—but it was there. And it was fresh.
"She was here," she murmured to herself.
Behind her, the other trackers spread out in formation, their expressions grim. The early light filtered through the treetops, turning the forest into a kaleidoscope of pale gold and green, but Lyra found no comfort in the dawn. Her heart thudded with the weight of every minute that passed without Aurora safe in her arms.
"She's close," she said, rising to her feet. "Fan out. Stay in sight. Don't spook her."
"She might not want to be found," one of the warriors muttered, not unkindly. "She's hurting."
Lyra shot him a glare. "So what? You think we just let her fall apart out here alone?"
Silence answered her. They didn't disagree. They simply didn't know what to say.
The trees swallowed them one by one as they slipped into the wild. Lyra kept to a winding path Aurora had always favored as a child—one that led deeper into the mountains, toward the ravines where the mist clung long after the sun rose. The cold air pinched her cheeks, and memories chased her down the trail like shadows.
She remembered a younger Aurora—wild, stubborn, and quick with laughter. The girl who used to race the wind barefoot through these very woods. Who dared to leap from slippery boulders into icy creeks. Who trusted the world, because she thought love made her invincible.
Lyra's throat tightened. That girl had been crushed last night.
And Kieran... Stars above, what had he been thinking?
Anger lit her veins, hot and coiled. She couldn't understand him—not his decision, not his silence. He'd shattered Aurora, and yet stood back with that haunted look in his eyes like he was the one in pain. Lyra didn't want riddles or cryptic justifications. She wanted her best friend back. Whole. Safe.
A howl broke through the silence—distant, mournful, and raw. Lyra stopped in her tracks, every hair on her neck rising. That wasn't just any wolf's call. That was Aurora.
"I've got her!" she yelled to the others, shifting in one fluid motion as her body contorted, fur bursting forth in a flash of silver.
Lyra's wolf hit the ground running, paws barely touching the earth. She leapt over roots and tore through underbrush, her nose locked on the fading scent. But the trail didn't lead toward familiar ground—it veered sharply west, where the forest thickened and the land turned strange.
She slowed, her hackles raised.
The mist was thicker here, unnatural almost. The trees were older too—towering, gnarled, their bark blackened in places as if scorched long ago. This wasn't just wilderness. It was ancient ground. Sacred, perhaps... or cursed.
Lyra shifted back into human form, chest heaving. Her breath clouded in the morning chill, but it wasn't the cold that set her trembling.
"She's not just hiding," Lyra whispered. "She's being pulled somewhere."
The forest seemed to listen.
And somewhere, not far beyond the veil of mist, two fated paths were about to cross.
Lyra's pulse quickened with every step she took deeper into the mist-shrouded heart of the forest. The air felt thick here, as if the trees themselves were pressing in, blocking the very light that should have made the morning feel safe. There was something unsettling about this place—something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention, and yet she couldn't put her finger on it.
She could still hear Aurora's howl, a distant cry that reverberated through the quiet forest like a pulse. Every second that passed stretched the silence longer. And in the quiet, Lyra's thoughts raced, each one more frenzied than the last.
Why had Aurora run? Was it Kieran's rejection, or was there something else—something deeper that drove her to hide out here, far beyond the edges of Silverridge?
The thought made her stomach tighten. The weight of her promise to Aurora—I'll always be here for you—felt heavy now. How could she have let this happen? She should have noticed something, should have understood the subtle shifts in Aurora's mood. How could she have been so blind?
The fog thickened as the trees grew even older, their roots twisting like serpents beneath the forest floor. It wasn't just the landscape that felt unfamiliar now. The air itself seemed charged, vibrating with something Lyra couldn't place. It felt... wrong. Ancient, like something in this place had been waiting.
Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the faintest rustle of leaves. Lyra froze, her senses straining. Was it a predator? Or was it... something more?
The sound came again, this time sharper—closer.
She instinctively crouched low, her body coiled and ready. Her eyes flicked to the trees ahead. She'd lost the trail momentarily, but the air felt different now, as if the forest was watching her.
Her heartbeat thundered in her chest as she glanced behind, almost expecting to see someone—or something—watching her. But the woods were empty, the mist curling thick around her feet.
Another movement caught her eye.
A shape darted between two ancient oaks. It was swift, too swift to be a normal creature of the forest. Her wolf instincts screamed at her to run, but she held her ground, her every sense honed on the fleeting silhouette.
I can't let anything happen to her, she thought, though the unsettling sense of being followed made it harder to focus. Her grip tightened around the hilt of her blade—just in case.
The fog parted, and a figure emerged from the shadows.
Lyra's breath caught in her throat.