Chapter 80

Isla POV

The next morning came gray.

Not soft gray like fog or dawn this was heavier, muted, the kind of color that made the sky look like it hadn’t decided if it wanted to rain or mourn.

The packhouse moved quietly. No drills, no arguments in the courtyard, no clang of steel. Just the muted sound of footsteps and whispered reports, as if everyone feared that speaking too loudly might wake whatever had stirred beneath the earth last night.

I hadn’t slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that mark  the word Luna burned into the soil like a memory the land refused to forget.

Kieran had been there.

And even though part of me wanted to deny it, to believe it was some trick or illusion, the bond told me otherwise. That faint hum in my chest  the one that only came alive when he was near hadn’t faded. It pulsed faintly, like an ember trying not to die.

When I finally made my way downstairs, Lyra was waiting for me by the door. She looked like she hadn’t slept either, her eyes red at the corners.

“Tristan’s in the war room,” she said quietly. “He’s been there all night.”

Of course he had.

I nodded, pulling the cloak tighter around me. The corridors were cold, and not just from the weather. Magic left its chill behind, a reminder that something unseen had touched our world.

When I entered the war room, the candles had burned down to their bases. Tristan stood by the window, his hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the treeline in the distance.

He didn’t turn when I stepped inside. “You should’ve rested,” he said.

“I could say the same to you.”

He exhaled, long and tired. “Rest isn’t going to change what we saw.”

“No,” I said softly. “But it might keep us sane long enough to face it.”

That earned a faint smile  the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “You sound like you’ve already accepted this.”

“Accepted what?”

“That he’s back.”

The way he said he made my heart twist. Not with guilt with something heavier.

I crossed to the table, where maps and sketches of symbols lay scattered between pages of old texts. Some of them I recognized ancient markings of the Blood Pact. But others… they were unfamiliar, alive even on paper.

“He’s not the one bringing this magic,” I said after a moment. “He’s reacting to it. Just like we are.”

Tristan finally turned, his gaze sharp. “And what if you’re wrong?”

“Then we’ll know soon enough.”

Silence. Only the faint sound of wind pressing against the windows.

He stepped closer, his voice low. “You felt it last night, didn’t you? The bond.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. He saw it in my face.

“Isla,” he said carefully, “if he’s using that bond to reach you”

“He’s not.”

Tristan’s jaw tightened. “You can’t know that.”

“I do,” I said, and I hated how sure I sounded. “Because it didn’t hurt.”

He frowned. “What?”

“When he reaches out, it always burns. But last night it didn’t. It felt warm.”

His expression softened, but only for a heartbeat before he masked it again. “You think that means safety?”

“I think it means he’s still fighting whatever’s inside him.”

Tristan looked away, muttering something under his breath I couldn’t catch.

The door opened then, and Lyra entered with two scouts in tow. One of them was trembling slightly, his cloak still damp with dew.

“Alpha,” he said quickly, bowing. “The northern patrol found something. Not an attack a structure. It wasn’t there yesterday.”

Tristan straightened. “What kind of structure?”

“Stone. Old. Buried under the moss until now. It’s pulsing.”

The room fell quiet.

“Show me,” Tristan said finally.

He grabbed his cloak and turned toward the door. When his eyes flicked toward me, I could see the conflict written across his face.

“You’re not staying here,” I said before he could speak. “Don’t bother arguing.”

He sighed. “You really are impossible.”

“I learned from the best.”

Lyra hid a smile behind her hand.

The forest was different today.

Quieter, yes  but it wasn’t the silence of peace. It was the silence of something watching.

We followed the scouts through the northern ridge, past the blackened patch where the mark had been burned. The deeper we went, the thicker the air grew.

And then I saw it.

Half-buried in the roots of an ancient oak, a circle of stone jutted from the ground. The carvings across its surface were faint, eroded by time, but when the light hit them, they shimmered faintly gold.

Tristan crouched beside it, brushing away dirt with his fingers. “These symbols” he murmured. “They’re older than the Pacts.”

I knelt beside him, tracing one with my hand. The moment my skin touched the stone, a faint hum vibrated through me  the same one I’d felt near the boundary line.

Lyra took a step back. “Luna, maybe don’t”

Too late.

The air around us shifted, a gust of wind spiraling through the clearing. The runes flared brighter, and suddenly I wasn’t in the forest anymore.

I was standing in darkness  not empty, but alive. Threads of light twisted around me like veins, each pulsing in rhythm with a heartbeat that wasn’t mine.

A voice echoed, faint and familiar.

Do not fear what wakes fear what remembers.

And then it was gone.

The forest snapped back into focus. Tristan’s hands were on my shoulders, shaking me gently. “Isla!”

I blinked, breath catching. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” he said sharply. “Your eyes they were glowing.”

I stared at him. “Glowing?”

He nodded once, tense. “Whatever that was, it reacted to you.”

I looked back at the stones, their light now dimming. “Or through me,” I whispered.

Tristan rose to his feet. “We’re sealing this area. No one comes near it until we understand what it is.”

The scouts nodded and hurried off to mark the perimeter.

I stayed still, my hand pressed against my chest. The hum inside hadn’t faded if anything, it had grown stronger.

Something ancient had recognized me. And I didn’t know whether to be afraid or honored.

That night, the sky broke open with rain.