CHAPTER 63

ECHOES OF of THE LOST 

“In the blood of one twin lay the echo of a soul forgotten. In the other, the fury of the flame was reborn.”

Elara’s footsteps were soft on slate, though her mind roared louder than thunder. Before her lay the Council Hall—its heavy wooden doors cracked open, shadows flickering inside. Torchlight danced on the faces of leaders and elders: Lerder’s Alpha Council, the Flamebearers, human chieftains, and wary shifters. Tonight’s meeting was no treaty. It was a reckoning.

But before entering, Elara paused on the threshold. The twin’s face lingered in her memory—fragmented, desperate, angry. She was the echo of the twin who’d lived before her, and now carried a memory that should have been her own. Elara swallowed, squared her shoulders, and stepped inside.

The hall smelled of pollen and smoke, incense burning at intervals. The high councilors sat in a crescent of carved stone chairs, faces blank or skeptical. Many had not witnessed her twin's vision, but they all knew—and feared—the implication. A twin eliminated by prophecy meant the prophecy itself was a weapon.

She stood before them; all attention centered on her. “Leaders and guardians,” she began, voice low but unwavering, “thank you for convening on such short notice.” Her gaze moved across the council. She met the old shaman’s eyes. “You’ve seen the darkness in the flame.” He inclined his head.

Elara continued, “I’m here to ask for your help in bringing her—Eluna—back.” Her voice trembled just a whisper, but echoed two heartbeats later. “She’s alive. I’ve seen her in vision. She remembers me—and she calls out.”

Aryn’s voice broke the silence: “Elara is asking for a sacred mission—to rescue a soul trapped behind the Heart Fang, and stolen by Malak.” She turned to the council. “This mission is critical, not just for her, but for the prophecy itself. Two twins—if unbalanced—could fuel collapse or renewal.”

The old shaman leaned forward. “Or damnation.”

Elara swallowed. “I know there are risks. But I also know that without her, I'm incomplete. And this is incomplete… This echo is what fuels Malak’s hold.”

Goran’s voice rang out: “This mission drags us deeper into prophecy we do not understand. Are we prepared to lose one—or two—of our own?” His words carried the weight of guilt.

Lerder stood, stepping in front of Elara. “We’re prepared to risk everything to bring her home,” he said. His voice was steel. “Because Elara isn’t just a pawn. She’s our alpha’s mate—and our soul.” His words carried through the hall. Many leaders paled; some nodded.

Then Lyra spoke, slow, deliberate: “I will go with her. So will Rhys.” Her declaration hung midair.

Rhys stood, limping yet determined. “I owe her a life—and I don’t owe Malak my silence.”

Aryn and Maerra stood next. “I bear the flame’s truth,” Aryn said. Maerra’s eyes flickered. “And the sanctified blade.”

Goran uncrossed his arms. He glanced at the group. “If this goes wrong…” his voice broke, “we will pay. I will pay.” His shoulders rose with a long sigh. “I will go. I am pack. And if we lose her—Elara—or both of them—I’ll avenge them with my blood.”

Silence cracked. Emotion roared. The council looked from one face to the next.

Finally, the old shaman rose, and the others followed. They approached one by one, placing hands on the group’s shoulders—pledging. Some eyes welcomed. Some judged. But all knew—there was no turning back.

As dawn broke in glimmering gold across the peaks, preparations were underway. Torches were stacked, relics like salt-blue crystals and silver-edged blades prepared. Aryn inscribed runes, while Maerra filled vials of sanctified oils. Rhys polished Elara’s dagger. Lyra strapped healing satchels to saddle packs. Lerder consulted maps with Goran.

Elara moved between them, offering soft smiles, biting back fears. Every so often she paused, tracing the glow of her pendant. It burned softly—like a beacon calling her twin home.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Maerra asked quietly as they worked side by side.

Elara nodded. “I have to be.”

Maerra placed a gentle hand over hers. “Then I promise—we will bring her back.”

Elara nodded, eyes glistening. “For me.”

Maerra clasped her on the shoulder. “For all of us.”

Before the departure, Elara paused in the sanctuary gates. Behind her, the council members lined the walkway; in front, the caravan waited. They waited for her blessing. The time for doubt was over.

Her gaze traveled to each face: a human mother stroking her child’s hair, a young shifter alpha new to leadership, a priest whispering prayers to the flames. They saw in Elara both hope and reckoning.

In a low voice she spoke: “To all those I leave behind—thank you for believing. Thank you for trusting.” Her hand went to the pendant. “I carry more than myself now. I carry every prayer, every fear, every hope. I will return.”

Lerder stepped forward, placing his hand against her chest. “And I will not lose you.”

The path through the Carpathians twisted between towering cliffs and drifting mist. Elara focused, remembering the twin crying in chains. Each footfall echoed the memory. She imagined the wretch of her own flesh calling out for her.

Beside her, Lerder watched her closely—his own heart burning with a promise. Lyra rode in silence, senses alert. A man twisted his handle. Whispered breath. Rhys wept into his cloak—tears for the past he failed. Aryn glowed with anticipation. Maerra hummed the sacred oath.

They traveled through forests tangled with frost, where hollow owls called and cold stars glimmered. The air smelled of earth and promise—and blood.

At midday they reached the first waypoint: a carved stone pillar from the Shadow Cult’s last raid. Lyra and Elara knelt, pressing hands to the pillar’s sigils. Lyra murmured enchantments. The pillar glowed. Wards flared.

Elara shivered as memory pulsed through the stones: a ritual fatal to the twin. Lerder’s strong hand closed around her.

“This stone remembers,” Lyra said. Elara nodded. “Yes.”

As night fell, they made camp among hollows carved by ancient magic—rune-lit. The fire was small, tents circled. They ate, but none smiled. The air was heavy with listening weeds and memories.

Elara stepped away to sit with Lerder, just her and him in moonlight.

He whispered, “Tell me again—about her face. Your twin’s face.”

Elara sighed. “It wasn’t the same as mine. Softer. Her eyes—when she looked at me—they held accusation.”

He reached for her hand, fingers tracing her cheek. “We’ll find her.”

She leaned into him. “Promise?”

He kissed her forehead. “I promise.” They held each other, silent. Stars wheeled above them.

Sleep came fitfully. Elara awoke to frozen breath and the call of distant howls. She ran outside, breath white in the air. She found Aryn and Lyra standing shoulder to shoulder.

Elara approached. “What is it?”

Lyra pointed to the dark ridge beyond the campfire’s glow, where two sets of glowing eyes watched: silent predators.

Elara’s hand hovered over her blade. “They’re not wolves.”

Aryn whispered, “They’re watching you.”

“Maybe they’re after her,” Elara said. She looked to Lyra. “What should we do?”

Lyra closed her eyes. She sighed. “We hold our ground—and show them unity. This mission demands solidarity, not fear.” She stepped forward, raising arms. “We bear no threat.”

The eyes blinked—withdrawn. A cold wind rolled through the trees, extinguishing one torch.

That night, when sleep finally took her, dreams came like knives:

She stood in the cradle room. The empty cradle burned with golden light. On the sleeping page laid beneath it, she knelt. And the twin knitting her hair called: “You left me.”

Elara’s heart trembled. Elara’s mother comes—always gentle—whispering: “Do what you must.”

Elara turned, but the mother’s face flickered. Then Eluna appeared—hand outstretched.

“Help me.”

Elara reached, but the twins’ fingers brushed—static like electricity. Then the cradle—shook. The golden light spilled and the room collapsed.

She woke in a sweat, heart thudding. Lerder sat beside her, eyes worried. He took her hands. “You were calling my name.”

Elara swallowed. “I was in the cradle room.”

He nodded. “Then that’s where we go next.”

Elara rose before dawn the next morning. She walked alone to the shrine of echoes—a broken temple between ridges where prophecy had once bled. A single beam of sunlight broke through ruins—illuminating the twin cradle carved in stone. Two symbols: one flame, one shadow.

Elara knelt, tears filling her vision. She traced the twin symbol. Then laid her pendant beside it.

She closed her eyes. “I’m here, sister. I’m coming.”

Behind her, footsteps. “Let me stand with you,” Lerder said softly. He knelt, taking her hand. Together they bowed their heads.

Two beams of light blended: fiery and pale.

And the twin’s echo answered. A breeze—cold, fragile—brushed her hair. A whisper in Elara’s ear: “Soon.”

She opened her eyes to Lerder’s steady gaze and a world full of promise and peril at once.