Chapter 22 Ashes and Aftermath
Lyra
I run.
The smoke is alive, snaking and twisting like a restless beast through the trees, a thick gray shroud that chokes the world in silence. The moon hides behind the choking haze, the sky itself swallowed by ash and cinders. This is the aftermath of the fire we set ourselves, a reckless blaze meant to stop Alpha Kaelen’s army, and now the forest is paying the price.
My paws drum the scorched earth, slippery with ash and dotted with glowing embers that burn like dying stars. Every step sounds too loud in the eerie quiet. Every breath sears my throat. I’m deeper in the burn zone than I meant to be, lost in a wasteland where scent trails vanish beneath smoke and fear.
I open my mind, reaching out through the link first for Bram then for Jorin. Nothing. Just silence, thick and cold. I don’t dare howl. Not with Kaelen’s scouts still nearby.
I press forward, chasing shadows and ghosts. The mind-link hums with chaos, panicked voices, cries of wolves lost in flame, screams swallowed by smoke. My own heart pounds so loud I have to shove it down, bury it beneath focus.
Where are you, Bram?
The forest here is broken, blackened skeletons of trees groan and topple under their own weight. I weave between them, tail low, ears flattened against the roar of silence. I stick to the edges of the blaze, skirting pockets of heat that pulse beneath the dirt like warning signs.
I sniff the air and gag on the acrid stench of burnt pine and singed fur. Time slips away. Minutes or hours. I don’t know anymore.
Then I catch it. A disturbance in the ash, a trail where paws scraped and dragged instead of running. I lower my nose and breathe deep. Beneath the smoke, beneath the choking fuel, beneath the death, his scent.
Bram, I’m coming.
The trail is broken, erratic. He veered off, stumbled. I follow every faltering step, stepping where he dragged himself, tracing his slow, painful path. His scent grows stronger, sharper, fresher.
I break into a desperate sprint. The forest mauled and burnt stumps to roots, the air still thick but clearing as the fire dies down. I hear the faint rush of water ahead, the stream we dug to hold back the fire.
And then I freeze.
A shape huddled just past the stream’s edge, fur dark with soot, curled beneath a fallen tree. My lungs seize until I see the rise and fall of his ribs.
I leap over the water and nearly collapse beside him. His eyes stay closed, his breathing shallow and ragged, each breath a struggle. His fur shows no burn, but I can smell the damage, smoke and exhaustion clawing through his lungs deeper than any flame.
I nuzzle his muzzle gently. He stirs, groans softly, but stays still. A low whine trembles in my throat as I press my side against him, as his tail twitches faintly.
I lower my head and let out a broken, hopeful sound.
You made it. You held on.
But he’s fading, and neither of us can shift in this state. If anyone finds us like this…we’re exposed, vulnerable.
So I do the only thing left. I curl around him, shielding him with my body. I lick the soot from his ears and eyes, careful not to disrupt the fragile rhythm of his breath.
“Bram,” I say through the mind link, gentle but urgent. “Bram, please.”
He doesn’t answer.
I nudge under his chin, coaxing his head up. His eyes flutter open, dull at first, unfocused. I press my nose to his and hold it there, letting the warmth of our pack bond pulse between us like a steady drumbeat.
“Come on. We have to move.”
He groans, a low rasp of sound, but it’s something. I shift my weight, get under his shoulder, and push him up. He stumbles, but I brace him, letting him lean against me.
“Lyra…”
His voice, rough but clear, cuts through the chaos. I freeze for just a second, relief washing over me.
“I’m okay,” he adds.” Just… can’t breathe very well.”
“You look like hell,” I mutter, and he huffs, a faint flicker of amusement through the link.
I nudge him again, firmer this time. “We can’t stay here. Can you walk?”
He nods, slow and reluctant, and together we take one shaky step, then another. His gait is uneven, but the fire hasn’t broken him. Not completely.
The forest presses close around us, burnt trees, scorched earth, ash clinging to our fur. I keep my body angled toward his, ready to catch him if he falters again. We move in silence, save for the sound of paws on charred ground and the echo of our shared breath as we gasp for air.
“I thought I lost you,” I admit.
“Not yet.”
We move slower now, every step a battle against the fear that he might collapse before we reach the only shelter I trust.
The trees thin, and through the gray haze, the battered outline of the clearing comes into view. Relief flares sharp, like a sudden flame in the dark.
I nudge Bram gently, careful not to jar him. “Almost there,” I say through the mind-link, hoping my voice steadies him.
“Where are we going?” he asks, breathless.
“Home,” I say. “Jorin’s place.”
The crunch of dry leaves under our paws is the only sound. My senses strain, alert for any threat–enemy scouts, survivors, anything.
The cottage stands stubborn and scarred, like a promise of warmth and safety. We slip through the last thicket into the clearing. The scent of earth and herbs wraps around me like a shield.
We reach the cottage, and I nudge the door open with my shoulder, soot and ash trailing us inside.
I glance at Bram. He’s breathing hard, his head low, his limbs trembling. But he made it.
“Wait here,” I tell him through the mind-link. “I’ll shift first. You can change after.”
He doesn’t argue. Just lowers himself to the floor with a groan in his chest and closes his eyes.
I slip behind the canvas partition in the corner, the one Jorin strung up for privacy. It barely shields much, but it’s enough. My bones crack and stretch, my fur receding as I rise onto two legs. The shift always pulls something out of me, energy, heat, focus. The ache in my muscles is a reminder of how long I’ve been in my wolf form.
I yank on a tunic from the chest at my feet, lacing it quickly before stepping out barefoot. The floor is cold stone, rough against my skin. I grab a pair of Jorin’s trousers and toss them toward Bram, who’s still lying on the floor, his chest heaving.
“Your turn,” I say gently.
He hauls himself to standing with a growl and limps past me behind the partition. A moment later, I hear the sounds of the shift.
Bram emerges in a few minutes, dressed and unsteady on his feet. He’s barefoot, with ash still clinging to his collarbone and his eyes are heavy-lidded but alert.
“I didn’t think I’d ever get you here,” I murmur, stepping into his space and guiding his arm around my shoulder. “Bed. Now.”
He doesn’t argue. Just leans on me, more weight than I expect, and lets me steer him through the narrow room. Every breath he takes sounds like it hurts. I lower him onto my mattress slowly, easing him down.
“You’re gonna be okay,” I whisper.
The bed’s small, narrow and warm from the sun still trapped in the blankets, and I smooth them over his chest as if that alone could fix him.
“This is our fault,” I say softly, brushing a damp curl from his forehead. “The fire. We lit it…” My voice cracks. “I didn’t think Jorin would light it so early. I didn’t think you’d—”
“I’d do it again,” he says hoarsely, through the mind-link. His lips don’t move, but the words land with weight. “We’re safe, and a huge part of Kaelen’s army is destroyed.”
I rise quickly before he can say more, retreating to the washbasin. My hands tremble as I fill a cup from the clay pitcher, the water sloshing over the rim.
Why does he always say the one thing that undoes me?
I bring the cup back and press it gently into his hand. He takes it, his fingers brushing mine.
“That scared me,” I admit quietly. “More than anything ever has. I thought I’d killed my best friend.”
He drinks slowly, and when he’s done, he doesn’t let go of my hand.
As I tuck the blanket higher over Bram’s chest, my eyes catch on the worn leather satchel slumped near the hearth—Jorin’s. He always leaves it there when he’s planning to come right back. A spike of dread cuts through the haze of exhaustion. He should be here by now.
After he lit the fire, set the trap, he should have ran like we did last time. But he promised he’d circle back once the smoke rose. I glance at Bram again, his jaw slack with sleep. One safe. One missing.
My chest tightens as the memories hit, the fire we lit to stop Alpha Kaelen’s men. Jorin wanted to light his side early to trap them from the western flank. He was closest to the advancing enemy. I stayed east, lighting my line. I sent him messages through the mind-link as the smoke thickened and the flames grew, but then… silence.
Swallowing hard, I return to Bram and kneel beside him.
“We’ll find him,” I say fiercely, “but you have to rest.”
Even as I say it, doubt gnaws at me. The firestorm tore through everything. Jorin might be hurt, or worse.
I pull my cloak tighter and lean close. “Rest now,” I whisper. “I’m going to find him. Just stay here.”
He tries to speak, but I press a finger to his lips.
“No arguments.”
The night swallows me again as I step back outside, the chill cutting deep. The forest is silent now except for the dying embers crackling on the wind. I close my eyes and open my senses, hunting for Jorin’s scent, his heartbeat, any sign he’s still out there.
The search begins.