Chapter 35

The forest stretched endlessly before them, a tapestry of gnarled roots and whispering leaves that seemed to close in with every step. Aria shifted Rollan in her arms, his small weight a constant reminder of the stakes they carried. His mark—a crescent etched into his skin—glowed faintly beneath his sleeve, a beacon of hope and danger in equal measure. Beside her, Caden hacked through the undergrowth, his machete glinting in the dappled light, his jaw set with the resolve she’d come to rely on. Behind them, Elara clutched the relic, her sharp eyes darting to every shadow.

“We’re nearing the river,” Caden said, his voice cutting through the forest’s hum. “Silverfang territory lies just beyond.”

Aria’s stomach tightened. The river was no mere crossing—it was a divide between safety and the unknown, guarded by Alpha Lyra, whose reputation for ruthlessness preceded her. They pressed on, the air growing heavy with moisture as the roar of water grew louder.

When they broke through the trees, the sight stole Aria’s breath. The river churned with feral energy, its surface a froth of white against jagged rocks. The bridge that once spanned it was a ruin, its remnants dangling like a broken promise.

“Great,” Caden muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. “The current’s too wild to swim.”

Elara knelt by the bank, her fingers brushing the relic. “Especially with Rollan. We’d lose him in an instant.”

Aria’s gaze swept the scene, desperation clawing at her. “What about a raft? We’ve got enough wood around us.”

Caden nodded, a flicker of pride in his eyes. “Let’s do it. Quick and sturdy.”

They sprang into action, gathering fallen branches and vines from the forest floor. Aria set Rollan on a mossy patch, his tiny fists waving as she worked. Caden lashed the logs together with practiced hands, while Aria wove vines into ropes, their movements a silent dance born of years together. Elara tested the structure, her scholarly precision ensuring it would hold.

As they tightened the final knots, Rollan’s mark flared, casting a golden glow that shimmered across the river. The rapids slowed, their fury easing into a steady flow. Aria’s heart leapt. “It’s him,” she breathed. “He’s guiding us.”

Caden stared, awestruck. “The prophecy—it’s alive in him.”

“More than we know,” Elara murmured, her voice tinged with reverence. “It’s tied to this land.”

They launched the raft, Caden steering with a branch while Aria cradled Rollan against her chest. The water bore them swiftly, the golden light painting their path until they scraped onto the far bank, breathless but whole.

Silverfang territory loomed before them, its air sharp with the scent of pine and wolf. They’d barely caught their breath when a howl split the silence—low and menacing. Figures emerged from the trees: a patrol of wolves, their fur bristling, led by a gray brute with a scarred muzzle.

“Outsiders,” the scout snarled, shifting to human form, his voice gravelly. “What brings you to Lyra’s land?”

Caden stepped forward, his presence steady. “We seek Alpha Lyra. Our mission is urgent, but we come in peace.”

The scout’s eyes narrowed, flicking to Rollan. “Prophecy-bearers, huh? Lyra doesn’t trust your kind. Speak fast.”

Aria’s pulse raced, but she met his gaze. “Our son’s marked by fate. We need the wolfstone to protect him—and all packs.”

The scout grunted, unconvinced, when a new energy swept the clearing. A silver wolf strode forth, her fur gleaming like moonlight, her blue eyes piercing. She shifted, revealing a woman of striking power—tall, stern, her presence a storm contained. “I am Lyra,” she said, her tone cold as winter. “And I guard what’s mine.”

Aria swallowed, stepping beside Caden. “Alpha, please. We’re not here to take. The wolfstone holds answers to a prophecy that could save us all.”

Lyra’s gaze hardened. “Or destroy us. That stone’s sacred. You think I’d let strangers near it?”

“We’re no strangers to sacrifice,” Caden countered, his voice firm but respectful. “We’ve fought Victor, lost friends, all to keep Rollan safe. This isn’t about power—it’s about peace.”

Lyra’s eyes lingered on Rollan, the glow of his mark undeniable. Aria held her breath as the alpha’s silence stretched, heavy with judgment. Finally, Lyra exhaled, a sound like relenting steel. “Your words ring true—for now. I’ll take you to the wolfstone, but my wolves watch your every move.”

Relief flooded Aria, tempered by wariness. Lyra turned, her scouts flanking them as they followed her deeper into the territory. The forest thinned, revealing a clearing dominated by the wolfstone—a towering slab of rock, its surface etched with runes that pulsed with ancient power. As they neared, Rollan’s mark blazed, its light merging with the stone’s in a radiant dance.

Caden squeezed Aria’s hand, his touch grounding her. “We’re close,” he whispered. “Whatever happens, we face it together.”

But before they could reach the stone, a howl rose in the distance—sharp, familiar, and laced with malice. Aria’s blood chilled. “Darius,” she said, her voice barely audible.

Lyra’s head snapped up, her posture tensing. “Your enemies follow you here?”

“He wants Rollan,” Caden said grimly. “To twist the prophecy for himself.”

The alpha’s lips curled into a snarl. “Then he’ll meet Silverfang steel. Move—now.”

They hurried toward the wolfstone, its energy thrumming through the ground. Rollan stirred, his eyes wide, as if sensing the clash to come. Aria clutched him tighter, her heart a drumbeat of fear and resolve. Darius was near, his loyalists a shadow on their heels, and the wolfstone stood as their last hope—or their final battlefield.