Chapter 28

Shadows of the Pass

The forest pressed in around them, its ancient trees weaving a canopy that blotted out the sky, casting the world into a perpetual dusk. Aria held Rollan close, his small body warm against her chest, his steady breathing a fragile anchor amidst the chaos of their flight. The air was heavy with the scent of moss and pine, but a sharper, metallic undertone lingered—a warning that danger was near. Caden moved ahead, his broad shoulders tense, his senses sharpened by the wolf now fully restored within him. Every crack of a branch or rustle of leaves drew his piercing gaze, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword.

Their destination was Wolfcrest Avenue, the place where their bond had first taken root, now a battleground where they must face Victor’s lingering essence. The urgency of their mission gnawed at Aria, her mind replaying the seer’s cryptic words: “Return to where it began, and face the truth of your bond.” The prophecy tied to Rollan’s mark weighed heavily on her, a burden she could neither escape nor fully understand.

“Do you think we can change it?” she asked, her voice cutting through the stillness. “The prophecy—what it means for Rollan?”

Caden slowed, turning to meet her gaze. His eyes, a storm of resolve and doubt, softened as they settled on her. “I don’t know if we can change it,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But I’ll be damned if we let Victor twist it to his will. Rollan’s our son, Aria. We decide his fate.”

Her chest tightened, a mix of fear and fierce love surging within her. “I just want him safe,” she whispered. “I never wanted this for him. For us.”

Caden stepped closer, his calloused hand brushing her arm. “Neither did I. But we’re stronger than we were. Together, we’ll protect him. No matter what.”

His words steadied her, grounding her in the storm of uncertainty. She nodded, drawing a deep breath as they resumed their trek. The forest began to thin, giving way to a rugged pass carved between jagged cliffs. The wind howled through the narrow corridor, carrying a chill that seeped into her bones. Something felt wrong—an instinct she couldn’t shake.

Caden halted abruptly, his head tilting as he sniffed the air. “Trouble,” he growled, his hand signaling for silence.

Before Aria could react, a shadow darted across the cliff above, followed by the sharp *twang* of a bowstring. An arrow buried itself in the dirt near her feet, its fletching quivering. She stifled a cry, clutching Rollan tighter as more arrows rained down. Figures emerged from the rocks—Victor’s loyalists, their dark cloaks blending with the stone, their eyes glinting with malice.

“Get down!” Caden shouted, shoving Aria toward a cluster of boulders. His sword flashed as he deflected another arrow, the metal singing with the impact.

Aria crouched behind the rock, her pulse racing as she shielded Rollan. Their small band of warriors—loyal pack members who’d followed them through every trial—sprang into action, drawing blades and firing back with their own bows. But the loyalists held the advantage, perched high and relentless. A warrior grunted as an arrow struck his shoulder, blood blooming through his tunic.

Caden’s face darkened with rage, his wolf surging to the forefront. With a primal roar, he shifted, his body transforming in a ripple of muscle and fur into a towering black wolf. He leaped onto the cliffside, claws gouging the stone as he climbed with ferocious speed. Aria’s breath caught as he reached the first loyalist, his jaws closing around the man’s arm with a sickening crunch.

But the enemy was ready. A hulking figure stepped forward, wielding a spear tipped with gleaming silver. “The child’s blood is the key!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the cliffs. “At the blood moon, Victor will rise!”

The words hit Aria like a physical blow. The blood moon, only three nights away would amplify the prophecy’s power. Time was slipping through their fingers. The loyalist thrust his spear at Caden, catching him in the side. A yelp tore from his throat as he staggered, blood matting his fur.

“Caden!” Aria cried, her voice raw with panic.

He shifted back, collapsing to one knee, his hand pressed to the wound. “I’m alright,” he rasped, though the strain in his voice betrayed him. The loyalists advanced, their numbers swelling as more emerged from the shadows.

Desperation clawed at Aria. Her gaze dropped to Rollan, his tiny hand clutching her sleeve, the mark on his arm faintly glowing. His power. It was their only chance. She closed her eyes, whispering a plea to the forces that had bound them to this fate. “Please, help us.”

A surge of warmth pulsed from Rollan’s mark, a golden light flaring outward like a shockwave. The loyalists faltered, their movements slowing as the light washed over them, their expressions twisting in confusion. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Caden seized the moment, barking orders to the warriors. “Now! Take them down!”

The pack surged forward, blades flashing as they cut through the dazed loyalists. Aria turned Rollan’s face away, shielding him from the carnage, her stomach twisting at the necessity of it all. When the last enemy fell, an eerie silence settled over the pass, broken only by the labored breathing of the survivors.

Caden limped toward her, blood dripping down his side, his face pale but resolute. “We can’t stop,” he said, his voice tight. “They’ll send more.”

She reached for him, but he waved her off. “Later. We need to reach Wolfcrest.”

With the wounded supported by their comrades, they pressed on, the pass opening onto a shadowed road. Wolfcrest Avenue lay ahead, but it was a ghost of its former self. The street was cloaked in an unnatural gloom, the buildings silent and hollow, their facades etched with strange, twisting symbols. The air grew colder, heavy with the scent of ash and something fouler.

At the street’s end, the gala hall loomed, its doors gaping open, a crimson glow pulsing from within. Aria’s heart sank—it matched the hue of Rollan’s mark, a sign of Victor’s corruption. Caden gripped his sword tighter, his wolf senses bristling.

A voice slithered from the darkness, smooth and venomous. “You’ve returned at last, Aria. Did you think you could keep him from me?”

It was Victor’s voice, warped and resonant, as if spoken from beyond the grave. Aria’s skin prickled, fear warring with defiance. She met Caden’s gaze, finding strength in the fire that burned there.

“Together,” he said, his voice a vow.

With Rollan between them, they stepped forward, the gala hall’s glow intensifying, shadows stretching like claws across the stones. The endgame was near, and with it, the truth of their bond would be tested.