TRAILS

The Forbidden Grove was alive. Not in a way that invited wonder, but with a sinister awareness that made every hair on Elora’s body stand on end. The fog twisted like ghostly hands, curling around her legs, and the trees loomed overhead—dark giants with twisted faces etched into their bark.

Beside her, Joel’s hand hovered near hers, his golden eyes scanning the shifting shadows. “Keep your mind sharp. This place thrives on fear,” he said, his voice low but steady.

“I’m trying,” Elora whispered, but her heart pounded like a drum.

The glowing orb floated ahead of them, its light faint but persistent, tugging her forward as though it shared the same pull in her chest.

---

They’d walked barely five minutes before the first voice called out from the darkness.

“Elora…”

She froze, her breath catching. The sound was faint, almost fragile, but unmistakable.

“That’s my mother’s voice,” she whispered.

Joel didn’t break stride, only tightened his jaw. “No. It’s not. The Grove uses your memories against you.”

But the voice came again, louder now. “Elora… help me…”

Elora’s steps faltered. Her mother’s voice had been her anchor through every hardship, every lonely night. What if—

“Don’t listen to it!” Joel barked, spinning her to face him. His grip was firm on her shoulders. “It’s a trick. Do you hear me? You have to fight it.”

---

Suddenly, the path split ahead—two narrow trails winding in opposite directions. The orb hovered uncertainly, its light flickering as if caught between them.

Elora felt the pull in her chest yank violently to the left, nearly doubling her over. “This way,” she said breathlessly. “I can feel it.”

“No.” Joel’s voice was sharp, final. “Right. The left path is bait. It wants you alone.”

“But Joel—”

Before she could argue, her mother’s voice screamed from the left path. “ELORA! HELP ME!”

Elora wrenched free of Joel’s grip. “I have to check—what if she’s—”

“You step on that path, and I swear I’ll drag you back kicking and screaming,” Joel snarled.

But it was too late. The ground beneath them shuddered violently, cracks snaking across the forest floor.

“Elora—NO!” Joel lunged for her hand, but the earth split open.

She fell, her scream swallowed by the darkness as the jagged chasm sealed above her like it had never been there.

---

Elora's pov

Elora hit the ground hard, pain shooting up her arm as she pushed herself up. The air was thick and cold, tasting faintly metallic. Bioluminescent fungi lined the walls of the cavern she’d fallen into, casting an eerie green glow.

A sound—a footstep—echoed behind her. Spinning, she came face-to-face with a figure.

It was a young man, tall and robed, with eyes like silver moons.

“You made it,” he said calmly, his voice resonating with ancient power.

Elora backed up until her shoulders pressed against the cold stone wall. “Who are you?”

“An ally… or your undoing,” the man replied. “That depends on your strength.”

Her chest burned as the pull within her intensified, threatening to tear her apart.

“This is your first trial, Elora,” he continued. “To move forward, you must surrender a memory—the one you cherish most.”

Elora’s breath caught. “A memory?”

“Yes. Your dearest memory. Surrender it, or remain trapped here… forever.”

Images flashed through her mind: her mother’s laughter, the warmth of her embrace, the nights when her soft voice sang lullabies that kept the darkness at bay.

“No… not her…” Elora whispered, tears sliding down her cheeks.

“If you refuse,” the man said coldly, “the shadows will take you.”

---

Joel's pov

Above ground, Joel sprinted through the Grove, his wolf form darting between twisted roots and claw-like branches. His mind was a blur of rage and fear.

Not again. I won’t lose someone again.

“Elora!” he howled, but the Grove mocked him. Her voice echoed back in a perfect imitation: “Joel… save me…”

He growled, shaking his head to clear it. The trees whispered his deepest fears: You’re weak. You couldn’t save your pack. You won’t save her.

He ran harder.

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Elora's pov

The cavern grew colder as shadows crept toward her feet like liquid night. The silver-eyed man’s voice echoed. “Decide. Sacrifice, or perish.”

Her chest heaved. Could she really give up her mother’s face? Her voice? Her love?

“Please… anything else,” Elora begged.

“There is no other.”

The shadows reached her ankles, burning like ice. Her vision blurred as panic set in.

But then, a voice—Joel’s voice—cut through the fear.

“ELORA! HOLD ON!”

She gasped. The pull in her chest flared painfully, and the silver-eyed man’s expression darkened.

“He is breaking through. You’re out of time.”

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