Chapter 94

It was asking for faith.

The air between us shimmered faintly, golden light threading through the silver of the moon until both became indistinguishable one heartbeat shared between two souls who had spent lifetimes trying to forget they were never meant to stand alone.

When the light faded, I found myself breathing easier.

Not because the danger was gone

But because for the first time, I knew I wasn’t facing it alone.

The night was still.

The bond was calm.

And somewhere in the distance, the forest whispered our names like a prayer that had finally remembered how to end in peace.

Isla

Morning came softly like the world was trying not to wake us too fast.

The air smelled of dew and pine, the kind of calm that only comes after a storm has cried itself empty. Sunlight spilled through the trees, pale and unsteady, filtering through the open window of my room. For the first time in days, I didn’t wake to panic or voices or the restless pulse of power burning under my skin.

Just quiet. And him.

Kieran was leaning against the doorway, half in shadow, watching me like he wasn’t sure if I was real. His hair was damp, his shirt rolled at the sleeves, and the faint scent of the forest clung to him the same scent that always made the air feel like home even when I didn’t know what home meant anymore.

“How long have you been standing there?” I asked, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Long enough to make sure you were actually sleeping,” he said, his tone a mix of teasing and relief. “You haven’t done much of that lately.”

I sat up slowly, pushing a strand of hair from my face. “Neither have you.”

He didn’t deny it. Just smiled a little, the kind of smile that made me forget what I was supposed to be afraid of.

“Lyra wants you to meet with the elders this afternoon,” he said after a moment. “They’re curious.”

“Curious or suspicious?”

He shrugged. “Both, probably. But they’ll have to see for themselves before they start drawing conclusions.”

I sighed. “And Tristan?”

Something flickered in his eyes an emotion too complex to name. “He’s been quiet. Which, coming from him, is worse than yelling.”

I swung my legs over the bed, letting my bare feet touch the cold floorboards. The silence stretched between us, heavy but not uncomfortable.

“You should eat something,” he added. “Lyra made tea. Said it’ll help stabilize the resonance.”

I tilted my head. “The resonance?”

“The bond.”

Right. The bridge. The pulse that tied me to him now, whether I wanted it or not.

When I reached for my boots, a faint ache brushed against my ribs not mine, but his. It was so subtle I almost missed it.

I looked up sharply. “You’re hurt.”

Kieran froze, then gave a small shake of his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t lie. I felt it.”

He sighed, stepping further into the light. A shallow cut marked his forearm, clean but still red. “Training accident. Luca’s getting faster.”

I frowned. “And more reckless.”

“That too,” he said, smirking faintly. “You don’t need to worry. It barely stings.”

“Then why do I feel it?”

His gaze softened, almost apologetic. “Because the bond doesn’t know how to tell us apart yet.”

That truth sat heavy in the air. I could feel the quiet echo of his heartbeat humming against mine, like an uninvited melody that somehow felt familiar. It wasn’t suffocating anymore. Just there constant, patient, alive.

“I’ll get used to it,” I murmured.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” I said, surprising even myself. “If it means we stop hurting alone.”

For a moment, his expression cracked raw, unguarded. Then he nodded, almost reverently, as if I’d said something sacred.

By midday, the forest felt different again.

The mist had cleared, leaving behind golden light that shimmered through the treetops. Birds sang somewhere in the distance. It almost felt peaceful if not for the undercurrent of whispers trailing through the packhouse corridors.

They were watching me now. Studying every movement, every breath, every echo of power that sparked against my skin when I forgot to suppress it.

Lyra walked beside me, clutching her satchel like it might protect her from the weight of the stares. “They’re afraid,” she whispered. “Not of you. Of what you mean.”

“I didn’t ask to mean anything.”

“No one ever does,” she said softly. “But meaning finds us anyway.”

When we reached the council clearing, the elders were already waiting. Five of them each marked by years of power, their silver eyes reflecting the same unease I’d seen in the others.

Kieran stood a few paces behind me, silent but solid. I could feel his presence even without looking. Like the earth itself had decided to stand beside me.

Elder Hadran spoke first. His voice was gravel and weight. “The bridge has awakened. The bond has chosen. And the forest sings again.” He studied me for a long moment. “But tell us, child what do you hear when it does?”

I hesitated. The answer came from somewhere deeper than thought.

“Not words,” I said slowly. “Not commands. It feels like remembering. Like the world is trying to teach me something I already knew but forgot.”

A murmur rippled through them. Some nodding. Some frowning.

“And the boy?” Hadran’s eyes flicked to Kieran. “The wolf who shares this tether with you. Can you tell where he ends and you begin?”

I turned slightly, meeting Kieran’s gaze.

“No,” I admitted. “But maybe that’s the point.”

The silence that followed wasn’t hostile just thoughtful, measured. Like the forest itself was listening.

Elder Mirel spoke next, her voice softer. “The bridge has never chosen two before. If it sees balance where others saw division, perhaps that is what we must learn too.”

Hadran didn’t look convinced. “Or it’s warning us of something greater.”

“The bridge doesn’t warn,” Kieran said, his tone calm but edged. “It responds. To imbalance. To pain. To forgetting.”

Hadran’s gaze sharpened. “And what makes you so certain you understand it better than the rest of us?”

Kieran’s eyes didn’t waver. “Because I’ve heard it scream.”

The words fell like thunder, silencing the clearing. I didn’t need to look to know the truth of it I could feel the echo of that scream even now, faint and distant, hiding in the marrow of my bones.

Elder Mirel exhaled slowly. “Then let us pray it never has to again.”

That evening, the pack gathered near the riverbank.

Someone lit lanterns that drifted across the water like little stars, their reflections dancing against the current. It was an old ritual one we’d almost forgotten. A celebration of peace between cycles.

I stood at the edge, watching the lights float away. For the first time, I could feel the river’s rhythm echoing through my body. Every ripple, every flicker of light it all pulsed with the same quiet hum that lived beneath my skin.

Tristan approached from the other side, his expression unreadable.

“You didn’t tell me there would be a gathering,” I said softly.