Chapter 7: Into the Woods

Elara’s POV

They say curiosity kills the cat.

But standing at the edge of the woods, staring into the thick wall of trees that seemed to breathe on their own, I wondered if it would kill me too.

Mom’s words still echoed in my ears: Promise me you won’t go near the woods.

Her eyes had been so sharp, so afraid, it had left a chill in my bones.

And yet here I was.

I wasn’t sure what had dragged me out of bed that morning—the restless dreams, the unanswered questions, or the way the forest seemed to hum at the edge of my life like a secret waiting to be uncovered.

Maybe it was all of it. Maybe it was just me being stupid.

But the truth was, I couldn’t stay away any longer.

I tightened the straps of my backpack, though I had nothing useful in it besides a water bottle and a notebook. My sneakers crunched over the grass as I took that first step past the tree line.

The air changed instantly. Cooler. Thicker. Every breath filled my lungs with the scent of pine and damp earth, so sharp it was almost sweet.

It felt like walking into another world.

I hesitated, glancing back. My little town lay quiet behind me, roofs just peeking over the hills, safe and familiar. For a second, I almost turned back.

But something inside me pushed forward.

The deeper I went, the quieter it became. The usual chirping of birds dulled, the rustle of leaves hushed. Even the sunlight seemed to dim, broken by the lattice of branches above me.

It wasn’t silence. No—it was watchfulness.

Like the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting.

A shiver ran through me, but I pressed on, tracing my fingers over rough bark, letting the crunch of leaves underfoot prove I was still in the real world.

“See?” I muttered to myself, trying to chase off the nerves. “Nothing scary. Just trees.”

My voice sounded too small, swallowed by the woods.

It didn’t take long to realize I’d lost track of where I came from.

I turned, expecting to see the faint glow of sunlight on the clearing I’d entered from. But all I saw were trees—towering, endless, identical.

Panic licked up my spine.

“Okay. Don’t freak out,” I whispered. “It’s fine. Just retrace your steps.”

But when I tried, the ground looked the same in every direction. My footprints vanished into the leaves like I’d never walked here at all.

The forest had closed around me.

I should’ve turned in circles, screamed, done something. But instead, my feet carried me forward, deeper, as though following a rhythm only my body could hear.

The air was different here, heavier, threaded with something sharp. It prickled over my skin, raising goosebumps.

And then I smelled it.

A scent I couldn’t name. Earthy. Wild. Comforting and terrifying all at once.

My chest tightened. My heart pounded faster, not just from fear, but from… recognition.

But how could I recognize something I’d never known?

Mom’s voice rose in my mind again, fierce and desperate: Never go near the woods. Promise me.

Guilt stabbed through me. She’d be furious if she knew where I was. Worse, she’d be scared.

But the thought of turning back made my stomach twist. I couldn’t—not yet. Not until I understood why the forest felt like it had been waiting for me.

That was when I heard it.

A howl.

Long. Low. Haunting.

It rolled through the trees, vibrating in my chest, pulling at something deep inside me I didn’t understand.

My knees weakened, and for a second I thought I might collapse.

I should have run. I knew that. No sane person hears a wolf howl this close and stands still.

But I didn’t move.

Because the sound didn’t just terrify me.

It called to me.

Leaves rustled behind me.

My breath caught, heart hammering as I spun.

A figure shifted in the shadows between the trees, tall, broad, moving with a predatory grace that froze me in place.

And then—low, rough, commanding—came a voice that made the air itself shiver:

“You shouldn’t be here.”