Chapter 42 Chapter forty -two
Far away from the borders of the Slytherin Pack.
The forest fell silent around a small wooden hut. Even the chirping of birds and cricket could nowhere be heard. Inside the hut, a single candle flickered, its flame bending occasionally as if reacting to forces unseen. A woman sat cross-legged on the woven mat spread across the floor. The moonlight filtering through the window made her silver-streaked hair shimmer.
Her hands, moved quickly over a wide bowl filled with water. That bowl carved from enchanted quartz has passed down from one seer to the next for over a century.
The water inside swirled in slow, controlled circles, never splashing and never spilling, responding to her movements as if it has sense of understanding.
Seer Lyra; for that was she is known over the pack and beyond. She exhaled sharply. She senses something in the air was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Her fingers paused above the surface, and she frowned, her brows knitting together so tightly her forehead ached. The water shifted again, faster this time, spiraling as if a storm was forming inside the bowl
Her heart thudded heavily.
Too heavily.
And then her head jerked backward violently. Her spine arched, pulling her away from the bowl as the flame of the candle blow out.
Her eyes rolled upward, her irises vanishing as a milky white substance cover them.
Her body, though rigid, remained sitting upright. The only movement left in her was the faint trembling of her fingers and heavy pounding of her heart against her ribs cage.
Darkness greeted her first.
Not an empty darkness, but the kind filled with whispers, memories, and ancient weight.
then a light came as if it was the end of a tunnel.
A figure stepped forward, each stride slow yet steady. He was tall, perhaps taller in than any living Slytherin wolf today. His broad shoulders once held pride and power, but now they drooped with a weariness that seemed to echo through time.
Wrinkles lined his face like cracks through stone. His beard was long and white, braided with faded silver charms. He was wearing the ceremonial wear of the Alphas.
"Alpha Trevor," she gasped when she look at his face.
Her breath hitched.
The first ruler of the Slytherin Pack. The ancestor. She was standing before a legendary.
She bowed her head instinctively, the weight of his presence pressing her to the ground. Her voice trembled as she forced the words out.
“Old one… why have you summoned me?”
He did not speak immediately. Instead, he observed her, the way a predator watches his prey. His gaze held sorrow deeper than any seer’s warning, and it chilled her marrow.
Finally, his voice came, faint and scratchy. “Because the Slytherin Pack,” he said, “is slowly falling into chaos.”
Her head raised up. “Chaos? That cannot be. I have seen no such things. The pack stands strong, our warriors, our unity.....”
He raised his aged, shaky hand cutting her off.
“Not all chaos can be seen,” he murmured. “And what is happening is too dangerous for even your visions to show you freely.”
Her pulse skipped.
Dangerous enough that even a seer can see?
Her voice became barely a whisper. “Old one… what do you mean?”
His expression shifted,.pain, regret, and helpless rage flickering across his face. He leaned closer.
“An abomination,” he said bleakly. “An abomination is happening inside the pack house.”
The word struck her with the force of a blow.
Abomination.
A word seers were taught never to take lightly. It was used only in cases where fate twisted beyond nature’s law.
Her lips parted, but the ancestor continued, his voice hoarse.
“It was a mistake… a mix-up of choices and circumstances that should never have aligned. And now it threatens to corrode the pack from within.”
Her hands shook. “What mistake? What mix-up? What abomination? Please you must tell me what it is!”
His figure flickered, almost breaking into fragments of smoke.
“I cannot speak further.”
“You must!” she cried, desperation stabbing through her chest. “How can I protect the pack if you leave me with riddles?”
He looked at her then, truly looked at her, as though memorizing the face of the last person who might still save them.
“I wish,” he whispered, “that I could change fate.”
Her heartbeat stumbled.
Something terrible coiled in her stomach.
“But fate has already been written,” he continued sorrowfully. “And it will end in bloodshed.”
Her eyes widened, horror flooding through her veins. “Bloodshed? What bloodshed? Ancestor, tell me who will fall? Who will cause it?”
But he was already fading. His voice grew softer, dissolving like ash into wind.
“Expect anything, Seer of the Slytherin Pack. Anything.”
“No!” she cried, reaching out, her hands passing through his dissolving form. “Don’t leave! Tell me what I must do!”
But the darkness closed around him, swallowing him whole.
And then..
Silence.
Lyrana gasped and jerked upright, her lungs pulling in a sharp drag of air as though she had been drowning.
She has been in a trance. And she had meet with the first Alpha of the Slytherin pack.
The trance released her violently, her body trembling from the spiritual collision.
The bowl rattled, water sloshing over the rim and dripping onto the mat. The candle flame flared, then steadied.
She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the rapid thump of her heartbeat. Her skin gleamed with sweat despite the cold night air.
Her breath came in shallow bursts.
What did the ancestor mean… an abomination in the pack house?
Her mind spiraled, racing through every detail of pack life she had observed in the past months.
The Alpha was strong. The Luna was well. The warriors were loyal—though some recently seemed more tense than usual. There had been whispers of unusual scents around the borders… nothing confirmed. The sacred Moonstone that bless the pack has remain unbroken.
So what could be happening within the pack house itself?
Inside the Alpha’s home? Inside the very heart of their leadership?
Her throat tightened.
The ancestor’s words replayed through her mind.
A mistake… a mix-up… too dangerous for visions… bloodshed…
She clutched her chest again, trying to steady her breathing. Fear slithered into her bones, coiling itself around her like a cold serpent.
Abomination.
The word echoed loudly in her head.
Unnatural. Forbidden. Catastrophic.
Her hands trembled not from exhaustion but from dread.
Her stomach twisted painfully. She rose from the mat, her legs weak and unsteady. The moment she let go of the bowl, her palm touched the floor to keep her balance.
“What is happening in the pack house?” she whispered.
The shadows in the room offered no answer.
Only the wind outside responded, howling suddenly, violently rattling the windows.
She wrapped her arms around herself as a shiver crawled up her spine.
Something was wrong.
Something had already begun.
The ancestor had said to expect anything.
Anything.
She swallowed hard.
For the first time in ten years of serving as the Slytherin Pack’s seer…
She was afraid to close her eyes.