Chapter twelve

The wind howled as if it was mourning the dead.

Lyra tightened her cloak around her shoulders, eyes scanning the rough horizon. The once-beautiful stretch of wild valleys known as the Blightlands now resembled a barren wound. Shards of blackened stone jutted from the earth like bones, and the sky above swirled with clouds that pulsed an unnatural crimson at the edges. Magic. Old, untamed, and wrong.

Kaelen stood beside her, one hand on the hilt of his blade, the other fisted around a rune-carved talisman Veera had given them for protection. Behind them, Ardyn and Halden worked to construct a makeshift ward circle while Veera surveyed the area with her twin daggers drawn.

“This place reeks of forgotten curses,” Veera muttered. “Like it remembers pain and wants to share.”

Kaelen nodded grimly. “It’s a memory graveyard.”

Lyra crouched at the edge of a deep ravine they’d reached at dawn, there was a split in the earth that hadn’t been on any map. Inside it, darkness swirled like ink in water. No sound escaped it. Not wind, not birds, not even the faint calls of wild beasts. It was unnatural and sinister.

“We go down there?” Ardyn asked, skepticism laced with dread.

Lyra didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

---

The descent was treacherous and tasking.

Using ropes and Kaelen’s keen sense of terrain, the team lowered themselves into the ravine. Lyra was the last to touch down, her boots crunching against brittle stone. The air was colder here. It felt heavier. As though gravity had deepened, not just physically—but magically.

There were markings on the walls, crude carvings that pulsed with faint light when Lyra passed her hand near them.

“What are those?” Halden asked.

Ardyn stepped forward. “Ward symbols. But reversed.”

Lyra frowned. “Meaning?”

“They’re not meant to keep things out. They’re meant to keep something in.”

They moved carefully through the narrow tunnel that opened at the base of the ravine. Their steps echoed louder than they should’ve. The walls seemed to breathe, pulsing in and out with a slow rhythm.

An hour into their descent, Lyra began to feel it.

It wasn't fear.

Familiarity.

There was something ahead—calling to her.

Pulling her towards it.

---

They reached a cavern so vast the far end disappeared into shadow. At the center was a pit, it was a perfect circle, rimmed with obsidian stone and glowing runes.

Veera crouched. “Looks like a summoning ring.”

“No,” Lyra murmured. “It’s a prison.”

Kaelen looked at her. “How do you know?”

“Because whatever it holds is awake.”

Then, from the shadows, something-or someone moved.

They turned as one with their blades drawn and their magic flaring.

Something crawled from the far end of the cavern.

It had no eyes. No face. Just a stretched form of bone-white limbs and trailing darkness. It moved like smoke made flesh, every step wrong and twisted.

“Deep Wolf spawn,” Ardyn breathed.

The creature hissed, and the sound was like knives on glass.

“Hold formation!” Kaelen barked.

It attacked.

---

The fight was chaos.

Veera moved like lightning, slicing at tendrils before they could wrap around Lyra. Kaelen leapt forward, blade swinging in a wide arc, cutting deep into the spawn’s flank—but it didn’t bleed. Instead, it shrieked and splintered into two smaller forms.

“They multiply!” Ardyn shouted.

“Focus on the core!” Lyra called. “It’s hiding a tether.”

She reached into her magic, drawing on the unstable well within her. Fire burst from her palms, tinted silver and violet. It struck the creatures—but didn’t burn them. It froze them mid-motion.

“Now!” she yelled.

Kaelen drove his sword through the frozen center of the largest spawn.

It howled—and then collapsed into ash.

The others writhed in agony before dissolving as well.

Silence returned.

Lyra collapsed to her knees. Exhausted.

---

Kaelen helped her up, worry etched in every line of his face. “Are you alright?”

She nodded weakly. “Too much magic. I pushed too far.”

Veera kicked at the ashes. “What the hell was that thing?”

Ardyn studied the markings around the pit. “An echo of the original. A scout, maybe.”

Halden crouched, running fingers through the ash. “There’s more where that came from. The pit’s sealed—but it’s thinning.”

Lyra turned to Kaelen. “We can’t leave this untouched. It’ll spread.”

He nodded. “Then we seal it. Now.”

---

Ardyn and Lyra worked side by side to recreate the containment circle—this time around, it was reinforced with both blood magic and moonfire. Kaelen stood guard while Veera and Halden secured the perimeter.

As Lyra chanted, her magic surged—not wildly like before, but with purpose. The pit shuddered. Something screamed from within.

A voice.

Come to me, child of the moon. Bearer of flame. Break the chain.

Lyra’s voice cracked—but she didn’t stop. The seal glowed, brighter and brighter, until the entire cavern lit with a harsh white light.

Then—

Silence.

True silence.

The pit stopped pulsing.

Ardyn slumped back. “It’s done.”

Lyra sat, panting. “For now.”

Kaelen offered his hand. “Let’s not wait to see what wakes next.”

---

The ascent was slower, burdened with exhaustion and new knowledge. As they emerged into twilight, the cold wind felt less biting—and more like a warning.

Something was changing in the world.

Something ancient had been stirred.

And Lyra knew, deep in her bones, that the Deep Wolf was watching her.

Not to kill.

But to claim.

---

Back at the Accord, they brought their findings to Ysara. The council was horrified—but not surprised.

“You’ve seen its mark before,” Lyra accused.

Ysara’s expression didn’t flinch. “Only in prophecy. We did not know it was real.”

“It’s real,” Kaelen said. “And it’s not done.”

Lyra stepped forward. “Then give me sanction. Let me hunt it.”

“You want to chase a myth?” Orien asked.

“No,” Lyra said. “I want to stop a war.”

Ysara’s gaze met hers. “Then prepare. You’ll have Accord backing. But you’ll also have enemies.”

Lyra nodded. “Let them come.”

And that night, as the moon rose high, she stood at the edge of the Whispering Woods, blade in one hand, fire in the other, and whispered to the wind:

“Come and see what I’ve become.”