Chapter 13: The First Wrong Sign

POV: GUINE

The fox was dead. The thing inside it was not.

A sickening snap echoed through the silent clearing as the creature’s spine twisted at an unnatural angle. Its cloud-covered, metallic silver eyes glared blindly up at the canopy, and the thin stream of glowing silver mist spilling from its jaws coiled into the freezing air like living smoke.

Metal rasped sharply against leather.

Behind us, Percival’s Beta and my mercenary captain drew their broadswords in unison. Percival himself shifted his weight smoothly, his long sword clearing its scabbard with practiced, silent grace. His towering form moved instinctively between the creature and me, his broad shoulders cutting off the creature's path.

"Stay back, Lady Guine," Percival commanded, his low voice tight with suppressed power.

The reanimated fox let out a wet, guttural hiss, a sound no wild animal could ever make, and lunged forward from the snow.

Percival didn't hesitate. In a single, fluid arc, his silver-steel blade swept through the air. The heavy stroke cleaved the creature cleanly in two before its claws could even brush the dirt. The body collapsed into the snow, thrashing violently for a terrifying second before going entirely limp.

Where blood should have spilled onto the white ground, only a thick, foul-smelling gray ash oozed from the severed flesh, dissolving the snow beneath it like lye.

The woods returned to heavy, suffocating silence.

I forced myself to breathe, locking my knees so they wouldn't tremble. My chest heaved beneath my velvet mantle, but I fought with every ounce of my will to force the rising panic down into the dark. The silver mist, the sickening snap of unnatural movement, the absolute absence of blood, it was the exact horror I had witnessed in my first life. The Moonfall was not waiting for a convenient hour. The poison had already seeped into the soil.

Percival lowered his sword, his sharp amber eyes fixed on the gray ash dissolving in the snow. He didn't look shaken; he looked dangerously focused.

"Lancelot," Percival ordered, not turning his head. "Bring a sealed iron chest and heavy leather wraps. We take the carcass back to the garrison for examination."

"No," I interjected, stepping forward until I stood beside him near the blackened snow.

Percival turned his head slowly, his gaze locking onto mine with a heavy, piercing weight. "Lady Guine, this creature carries an unknown contagion. It is a threat to the entire ridge."

"And it died on Ravenshade land," I replied, my voice ringing out cold, firm, and unyielding. "This boundary falls under my jurisdiction. I will not have my estate's territory used as a staging ground for outside investigations, nor will I allow infected remains to be moved across open roads where the wind can scatter that ash."

I looked him straight in his unreadable eyes, refusing to back down an inch. "The carcass remains on my land. I have already summoned a trusted physician to Eclipse Hollow. He will examine it under strict isolation protocol. You and your Beta may observe the examination, Alpha Percival, but the specimen does not leave the Hollow."

For three long seconds, Percival simply stared at me. He was testing the strength of my spine, weighing whether my demand was born of foolish pride or deliberate calculation. Without access to his thoughts, I could only watch the silent, intense shifting of his features.

"Very well," Percival said quietly, sheathing his broadsword with a sharp click. "Your terms are acceptable, Lady Guine. But my men and I will escort it to your gates personally."

By mid-afternoon, the severed remains rested inside a glass-sealed containment tray within the isolated stone apothecary room in the lower levels of Eclipse Hollow.

Standing over the table was Physician Benedict Harrow, an elderly, sharp-eyed scholar whom Solicitor Sir Thaddeus had vetted and recommended for his discretion. Benedict wore thick leather gloves and a wax-treated apron, holding a magnifying glass over the dark silver residue scraping off the fox’s bone.

Percival stood against the far wall of the stone chamber, his arms crossed over his chest, watching both the physician and me with silent, hawkish intensity.

"Remarkable," Benedict whispered, his raspy voice filled with deep unease as he set his instruments down. "And deeply terrifying. This is no standard rot, Lady Guine. The organic tissue hasn't decayed, it has been converted. The bone structure has been calcified by an unknown metallic mineral."

"Is it transmissible through air?" Percival asked from the shadows, his voice cutting across the quiet room.

"Through fluid and ash, certainly," Benedict replied, shaking his head gravely. "If a beast or a man drinks from a stream contaminated with this ash, the mineral will settle in their marrow within days. It starves the brain of reason and puppet-animates the nervous system long after the heart stops beating. I have read obscure references to such phenomena in ancient northern texts... but I thought them mere legends."

"They are not legends," I said softly, staring at the tray. "They are history repeating itself."

Benedict used a small iron pair of tweezers to lift a linen cloth coated in the dry, silver ash from the containment tray, laying it flat on the wooden examination bench for closer inspection.

"We must burn the remnants in a sealed furnace," Benedict advised, reaching for a jar of purifying oils.

As I stepped closer to the bench to inspect the sample, my shadow fell across the linen cloth, blocking out the light of the nearby candle sconce.

The moment my shadow covered the silver ash, the dry residue reacted.

It didn't remain dormant. The fine silver dust began to dark, shifting from a dull metallic gray into a deep, pitch-black sheen. It swirled against the white linen as if reacting to an invisible current, pulsing in exact, rhythmic synchronization with the dark crescent mark burning beneath the sleeve of my wrist.

Something inside my bloodline answered to the darkness of the ash, and something inside the ash recognized the dormant power waking inside me.

My breath caught in my throat. I saw Percival’s eyes widen slightly from across the room as his sharp gaze locked onto the strange reaction beneath my shadow.

Driven by an overpowering, instinctual pull I couldn't control, I reached out my right hand, lowering my bare fingers toward the edge of the linen cloth.

"Guine, don't…." Percival warned, taking a sudden step forward from the wall.

It was too late.

The moment my fingers brushed the edge of the linen cloth, a violent shockwave of freezing cold surged up my arm. The room around me vanished into a roar of static, and a cold, ancient voice, a voice that was definitely not my own, echoed directly into the quiet caverns of my mind.

“Fifty days was never enough.”