Chapter 45 Stone sirens

Chapter 45 Stone sirens
    Sebastian’s POV
    “Don’t listen to it. Whatever it is, it’s not real.” Sybil placed a hand on my shoulder.
    “You don’t get to have her voice,” I whispered to the trees as I closed my eyes.
    The branches shivered.
    A root snapped out of the soil and wrapped around Luther’s boot. He swore, jerking free. Another curled toward Aven’s ankle before retreating, as if curious.
    Sybil’s voice was low. “It will probe. It will tempt. It will divide. It will find your worst fears and use them against you. It wants you ready for death.”
    “Then it will fail,” I said.
    The path bent again, subtle as a lie. Ahead, the air seemed darker, denser, as if layered with breath that wasn’t ours. Sybil pulled us forward, angling us toward that darkness. Toward the artifact.
    We kept walking.
    And slowly, behind us, the way out disappeared, swallowed by trees that leaned together like conspirators, sealing us in.
    The forest had accepted us.
    But not as guests.
    As offerings.
    The forest grew quieter the deeper we went.
    Not peaceful. Not still.
    Just.. listening.
    Every so often the path curved without moving, bending thought instead of earth. The trees leaned closer above us until the sky became nothing more than rumor. My boots sank deeper into the soil, as if the ground preferred me closer.
    The others were only a few paces ahead, their shapes dark and solid between the trees. Their voices floated back in muted pieces.
    Then the forest breathed in.
    And I was alone.
    No sound. No footsteps. No metal. No storm magic.
    Just the hush of leaves.
    And her.
    “Sebastian.”
    Not Amara.
    It sounded like snow on glass. Soft. Familiar. A blade wrapped in silk.
    But the chosen mate that died. Loralai.
    My heart broke along an old fracture that had never healed right.
    I did not turn at first. I knew what the forest was doing. I knew its hunger. I knew the shape of its cruelty.
    But grief is not a wound. Grief is an echo. And echoes linger.
    “Are you going to ignore me?” she asked gently.
    I turned.
    She stood between the trees the way she always had. Still. Poised. Pale light resting along her skin like devotion. Her eyes were soft the way water is soft before it drowns you. Hair like a white veil over her shoulder. Bare feet on the soil that did not dare stain her.
    She wore the last dress I remembered. The one I burned.
    “You look tired,” she said, stepping closer. Her voice was almost fond. “You always do when you care.”
    I stared at her.
    “You’re dead.”
    Her lips curved. “And yet here I am.”
    The forest leaned closer to listen.
    She stopped just in front of me. Close enough that memory rose like heat. The way she had smelled of winter and wildflowers. But it was wrong. All of it is wrong. There’s no bond. No attachment. 
    “You loved me once,” she whispered.
    “Yes.”
    The word was easy. True. A stone placed on a grave.
    Her gaze searched mine. “Do you still?”
    The bond tugged in my chest, fierce and undeniable, pointing not to the ghost before me but to the woman out there. My goddess given mate. She needs me.
    I felt like I was being split cleanly down the center.
    “I will always remember you,” I said.
    Her smile trembled. “That is not the same thing.”
    The leaves rustled like soft laughter.
    She lifted a hand and placed it over my heart.
    I did not feel skin.
    I felt cold.
    “You chose me,” she whispered. “You promised me a life. You promised me a crown. You promised me forever. And then you gave your soul to a stranger.”
    My jaw clenched. “She is not a stranger.”
    “She is a wolf.”
    “She is my mate.”
    “And I was what?” Loralai’s voice sharpened. “Practice?”
    It hit like a blade beneath the ribs. Quiet. Precise.
    I closed my eyes for a breath. “You were real. You were choice. You were the love I built with my hands. She is the love carved into my bones.”
    Silence wrapped around us.
    When I opened my eyes, hers shimmered with something brittle.
    “You would always pick her.”
    “She’s my mate. You’re gone.”
    Her expression softened again. Almost sorrowful. Almost kind.
    “Then stay,” she whispered. “If you love me, choose to stay with me.”
    Her fingers slipped from my chest to my wrist.
    Warm now.
    Warm like life.
    And for one terrible heartbeat, it felt real.
    The weight. The heat. But.. it felt so.. off..
    Then bond burned again, tearing my mind away from slipping into thinking I could actually do this.
    Amara.
    Terrified.
    Alone.
    Waiting for me.
    “No.”
    Her eyes widened.
    Then cracked.
    For a heartbeat, the illusion fractured. Her skin went pale as frost. Her dress turned to ash at the edges. The trees behind her warped. Her face flickered through grief, rage, pleading, sorrow.
    And then she smiled.
    Not Loralai’s smile.
    The forest’s.
    She leaned in, her lips almost brushing my ear.
    “Everyone drowns in something.”
    And as the real world came back to me, I found myself standing in front of these stone creatures, growling and reaching for me. 
    “Sebastian!” I turned so see Sybil rush toward me, flinging her hand and throwing me away from the monsters that seemed to want to eat my soul.  
    Using her powers she made them burst, effectively killing whatever they were.
    “Well, you broke the chain and we didn’t even notice for a hot minute. You were about to become the stone sirens lunch.”
    “Stone sirens?” Edgar asked. I stood and walked back toward everyone.
    “Yeah, they’re used by necromancers to collect souls to feed their magic.” 
    “Oh. Nice.” I whispered. 
    “What’d you see?” Edgar asked. 
    “Uh. Nothing that matters.”
    “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you got off track. The artifact is just past those rocks. I think the stone sirens were meant to guard it.” 
    The bond throbbed through my chest again and the thought of getting closer to breaking the barrier.
    I tightened my grip on the hilt at my side and kept walking.
    And behind us, the trees whispered like they had tasted my grief and found the flavor satisfying.
    The whispers followed us like a second set of footsteps.
    Too close. Too curious.
    Then the forest exhaled, and the trees shifted as we stepped past the stone sirens carcasses.
    The air changed first. Musk. Wet fur. Rotten leaves. The metallic edge of hunger. Luther’s hand went instantly to his sword. Edgar stiffened. Aven dragged in a breath through his teeth.
    Sybil’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not alone.”
    They emerged like shadows deciding to become flesh.
    Six. No.. eight.. Rogue wolves.