Chapter 85

I moved closer, scanning the open parchment in front of her. The ink was faded, the handwriting old curling symbols drawn in circles and lines that looked almost alive.

“What is this?”

“Records,” she said. “Or what’s left of them. Most are older than the pack itself.”

I traced one of the symbols with my finger. It pulsed faintly gold, almost like the runes carved into the stones. “You found something.”

Lyra leaned back, her expression thoughtful. “They call it the Echo Mark. It’s said to appear when magic starts remembering its first bond when it recognizes the blood it once belonged to.”

I frowned. “You think that’s what’s happening to me?”

“I think the world’s starting to remember you.”

That made my stomach tighten. “That’s not possible.”

Lyra tilted her head, studying me. “You said you saw something on the ridge, right? A vision?”

I nodded slowly. “A woman. Her hands were glowing gold. She was reaching for a wolf his eyes looked like Kieran’s.”

“And the runes reacted when you touched them?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s not impossible, Isla.” She turned one of the scrolls toward me. “The mark doesn’t choose randomly. It remembers bloodlines tied to the first Moon pact. Wolves born to balance both light and wildness.”

I blinked. “You’re saying I’m descended from the first wolves?”

“I’m saying the magic thinks you are.”

The words hung there, heavy and impossible.

I wanted to laugh, to say she was wrong. But deep down, I’d already felt it  the way the forest went still when I spoke, the way the stones pulsed under my hand, the way Kieran looked at me like he already knew.

And maybe he did.

Later, when I stepped outside, the day had already begun to shift.

The fog had burned off, revealing a sky so sharp and bright it looked almost unreal. The air carried warmth now, threaded with something electric. Wolves trained in the yard, the metallic clang of blades echoing across the courtyard. But beneath it all, there was that same hum  faint, steady, living.

Tristan stood by the gate, speaking with one of the scouts. His stance was tense, his expression drawn. When he saw me, his jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t turn away.

“Morning,” I said carefully.

He gave a small nod. “Lyra said you’ve been reading.”

“Trying to understand,” I replied.

“Understand what?”

“Why the forest listens when I breathe.”

He looked at me then  really looked. The kind of look that stripped away titles and rank and left only two people who didn’t know how to stop breaking each other.

“You shouldn’t have to carry this,” he said quietly. “Whatever it is, it’s not yours to fix.”

“Maybe it’s not about fixing,” I said. “Maybe it’s about remembering what we lost.”

Tristan’s eyes darkened. “And what did we lose, Isla?”

“Balance.”

He didn’t respond, but his silence said enough.

I turned slightly toward the forest, where the treeline shimmered faintly with that familiar golden haze. “He’s close again,” I murmured.

Tristan followed my gaze. “I know.”

“You’re not going to stop him?”

He shook his head. “If I try, you’ll follow him. I’d rather you both come back breathing.”

I stared at him, startled. “You trust me that much?”

“No,” he said softly. “I love you that much.”

The words hit like a blade wrapped in silk.

Before I could answer, he turned away, calling orders to the scouts.

And I stood there, caught between the man who held my world together and the one who had set it on fire.

The bond stirred again that afternoon  sharper this time. Not a call, not pain, but something urgent.

I followed it into the woods without thinking.

The air was different here thicker, almost metallic. The light filtered through the trees in fractured bands, gold one second, silver the next.

When I reached the clearing, he was waiting.

Kieran stood at the edge of the stream, the same place where I’d seen him before. His cloak was gone this time, his shirt torn at the sleeve, his arms streaked with dried blood. Not his.

My chest tightened. “What happened?”

“Rogues,” he said simply. “Scavengers drawn by the magic. They’re not organized yet, but they’re watching.”

I took a step closer. “You’re hurt.”

He shook his head. “Not badly.”

“You need”

“I need you to listen,” he said, voice firm but low. “Something’s shifting, Isla. The runes are changing color. The magic’s moving closer to the pack borders. Whatever woke in the stones it’s following you.”

I swallowed hard. “Then why doesn’t it attack?”

“Because it doesn’t see you as prey.” His eyes met mine. “It sees you as the one who bound it.”

The air left my lungs. “You said it was remembering the wolves. Not me.”

“It’s remembering both,” he said quietly. “Because you’re part of it.”

“I’m not”

“You are,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “The moment the bond sparked between us, it connected you to the old magic  the kind that existed before Alphas, before packs, before even the Moon herself.”

“That’s not possible.”

“It is. Because I felt it too.”

Something inside me broke loose then not fear, not disbelief, just a deep, aching recognition.

All the nights I’d heard the forest whisper. All the times the air had seemed to breathe with me. All the ways my wolf had started to feel less like an animal and more like a memory wearing my skin.

It made sense. Terrifying, impossible sense.

“What do we do?” I asked finally.

“For now?” he said softly. “You keep breathing. You stay inside the walls at night. You tell him what’s coming.”

“And you?”“I’ll hold the border.”“You can’t do that alone.”

“I have Ronan,” he said. “And if I fall”“You won’t.” The words came out sharp, certain.

Kieran’s lips curved faintly. “Still stubborn.”

“Still right.”

He stepped closer then, close enough that the world shrank to just the space between us  that fragile, burning line we both pretended we didn’t still cross.

“I don’t know how this ends,” he said quietly. “But I know the forest won’t stop remembering. And when it does, it’ll come for you first.”

“Then I’ll face it.”

His gaze softened. "You always do," he murmured, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

The bond between us pulsed once with golden light, faint but unmistakably alive before fading into shadow again.

And then he vanished, swallowed by the mist as he inevitably was after these fleeting encounters, leaving nothing but questions in his wake.

When I returned to the packhouse, the sun had already begun its descent. The sky blazed gold at the edges, casting that peculiar light that transforms even the harshest landscapes into something gentler than reality.

Tristan stood motionless at the balcony, arms crossed against his broad chest, his eyes fixed on the crimson horizon. The wind ruffled his dark hair, but he remained still as stone.

"You saw him again," he stated without turning, his voice carrying a mixture of resignation and concern.

"Yes," I admitted, joining him at the railing.

"What did he say?" Tristan finally glanced my way, his expression guarded yet vulnerable.

"That it's coming."