Chapter 27

Freya's POV

I stood at the entrance of the Mist Forest, shivering as the cold morning air cut through my clothes. The gray fog swirled thick and heavy, swallowing everything just a few trees in.

The mysterious person outside the tent last night kept me from sleeping all night, and I forced myself to stay alert, fighting against drowsiness. Perhaps that was their plan—no accidents, no harm, just using small tricks to affect my mental state.

An elderly werewolf with ritual markings painted across his weathered face stepped forward to address us all. His voice carried despite its age, commanding attention.

"The Mist Forest has stood since our ancestors first claimed these territories," he announced. "It is a place of ancient magic and wisdom. Find the central altar within three hours. If you can't hold on, you can send out a signal to give up at any time during those three hours. Those who fail to find the altar within the time limit will also be eliminated." His eyes locked with mine for a moment. "Trust nothing you see or hear. The mist creates phantoms of your deepest fears and desires. They are part of the test."

My heart thumped heavily against my ribs. Three hours seemed impossibly short to navigate this supernatural labyrinth. But I had no choice—this was the path to becoming Zeta, to securing my child's future.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the mist.

The fog enveloped me immediately, thick and oppressive. Within moments, I could no longer see the entrance or hear the others.

I tried to focus on my werewolf senses, but something was wrong. My normally acute sense of smell felt dulled, confused by the mist's strange properties. I couldn't even detect which direction the other participants had gone.

"Freya... Freya..." A soft whisper carried through the fog, calling my name. The voice was distorted but somehow familiar, sending chills down my spine.

"Stay calm. This is part of the test. Don't trust any voices or visions." I whispered to myself.

Looking down, I noticed faint symbols etched into the forest floor—ancient runes that seemed to form a sporadic path. I remembered Ivy teaching me about old werewolf markings when she was researching protective charms.

"These could lead to the altar," I murmured to myself, deciding to follow them. At least it was something concrete in this disorienting place.

After walking for what felt like half an hour, I heard a familiar voice call out.

"Freya! You're here!"

The voice made my heart leap with relief. Through the swirling mist, Noah appeared, his familiar white coat almost glowing in the dim forest light. Even his scent seemed right—that clinical mix of antiseptic and coffee that always clung to him.

"Noah?" I rushed forward without thinking. "Why are you here?" The comfort of seeing a friendly face after wandering alone was overwhelming. His presence felt like a lifeline in this disorienting maze.

His smile widened—that same reassuring smile that had guided me through countless difficult moments. "I told you yesterday that I would come. Don't worry, there's no physical danger in this stage," he said, extending his hand toward me. "Come with me, Freya. I found a shortcut to the altar."

I reached for his outstretched fingers, so grateful he was here. Noah always appeared when I needed help most—of course he'd find a way to help me now.

Our fingertips were inches apart when something flickered in his eyes—a flash of silver that Noah's human eyes could never produce. I hesitated, my hand freezing mid-air.

"How did you get in here?" I asked, suddenly aware of how strange his presence was. "This trial is for werewolves only."

"The elders made an exception," he answered smoothly. "For medical supervision."

The explanation sounded reasonable, but something felt wrong. Noah's voice had a hollow quality I'd never noticed before, and the way he stood—too still, barely breathing—wasn't quite right.

"If you're really Noah," I said slowly, pulling my hand back, "tell me my mother's name."

The phantom hesitated, its smile faltering for just a fraction of a second before it dissolved into wisps of gray smoke.

I exhaled slowly, my racing heart steadying. The mist will use people I trust to lure me off course.

Following the runes led me to a clearing filled with ancient stone tablets. They formed a circle around a central mechanism, covered in half-werewolf script that told stories of ancient guardians. The writing was weathered but still legible to someone who knew the language.

I ran my fingers across the inscriptions, remembering Bella's insistence that I learn the old tongue.

[The guardians follow the moon's guidance, seeking light rather than shadow...]

The central tablet had indentations in the shape of phases of the moon, arranged in no particular order. This was clearly a puzzle—one I needed to solve to progress.

I studied the inscriptions more carefully, finding a clue in the ancient text: [As the moon waxes and wanes, so too does the path to wisdom reveal itself.]

"Of course—the moon cycle."

I pressed the symbols in order: new moon, waxing crescent, first quarter, waxing gibbous, full moon, waning gibbous, last quarter, waning crescent, and back to new moon.

The mechanism clicked and hummed. Slowly, the ground before me shifted, revealing a hidden path that had been invisible moments before. The stones glowed faintly, illuminating the way forward.

"Thank you, Bella," I whispered, grateful my mother had insisted I learn the ancient language. "Two years of studying that old text is finally paying off."

The path narrowed as I pressed forward, the mist growing denser with each step. It curled around me like living tendrils, dampening my clothes and chilling my skin. The silence was unnerving—no birds, no rustling leaves, just the soft sound of my own footsteps.

Then I heard voices ahead.

I slowed my pace, moving cautiously toward the sound. Through a break in the fog, I saw them—Ethan and Riley standing in a small clearing. My breath caught in my throat.

Riley was leaning against Ethan's chest, her head tilted up to look at him. Her hair spilled over his arm where he held her close. The intimacy between them was unmistakable.

"Finally free of that half-blood," Riley's voice carried clearly through the still air. "Now we can truly be together."

I froze, unable to move or even breathe. This wasn't a trial anymore—this was my nightmare made flesh.

Ethan stroked her cheek with a tenderness he'd never shown me. His thumb traced her jawline as he smiled down at her. "I've always loved you, Riley. Freya was just a mistake, a transaction."

Pain exploded in my chest, so intense I nearly doubled over. I could smell them—Ethan's pine and rain scent mingled with Riley's floral perfume. I could see the way his fingers tangled in her hair, the way his body curved protectively around hers.

My vision flashed gold, the world tinting yellow as my wolf surged forward. My claws extended involuntarily, digging into my palms until warm blood dripped between my fingers.

Ethan's hand moved lower, caressing Riley's breast through her thin shirt. She moaned, a sound of pure pleasure, and pressed herself against him.

"I've waited so long for this," she whispered.