Chapter 4: The Shadowed Paths

Chapter 4: The Shadowed Paths

The air in the neutral lands was heavier, filled with a stillness that carried the whispers of old betrayals. The forest seemed darker here, the trees towering like silent sentinels guarding secrets better left undisturbed. Sienna walked ahead, her movements confident but cautious, her silver hair catching faint traces of moonlight.

I followed, the ache in my shoulder a dull reminder of how close I’d come to death. The salve Sienna had applied had worked its magic, numbing the worst of the pain, but the tension between us was another matter entirely.

“This place feels... wrong,” I muttered, breaking the silence as we approached the edges of the ruined council chambers.

“It should,” she replied curtly, scanning the path ahead. “The Archives are steeped in blood. The council thought they were untouchable—until the day they weren’t.”

I could hear the bitterness in her tone, but I didn’t press. Sienna had lived through more battles and betrayals than most. If anyone knew the weight of these paths, it was her.

---

We stopped at the edge of a crumbled stone archway, its weathered surface engraved with faded runes. The entrance to the Archives loomed before us, a gaping maw descending into darkness.

“Stay close,” Sienna said, unsheathing her blade.

I nodded, gripping the hilt of my own weapon. Together, we stepped into the ruins, our footsteps echoing off the damp stone walls.

The air inside was suffocating, thick with the scent of mildew and decay. Strange markings adorned the walls, remnants of a time when the packs were united under a single banner. Now, they were little more than ghosts of a forgotten era.

“This way,” Sienna whispered, leading me down a narrow corridor.

The deeper we went, the colder it became. My breath fogged in front of me, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed through the halls.

---

We reached a large chamber, its ceiling partially collapsed. Ancient shelves lined the walls, filled with crumbling scrolls and broken artifacts. In the center of the room stood a stone pedestal, its surface etched with intricate carvings.

Sienna approached the pedestal, her fingers tracing the runes. “These symbols... they’re from the Old Tongue. They speak of something sealed—something powerful.”

“The Crown?” I asked, stepping closer.

“Maybe,” she said, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “But this inscription mentions a key. Whatever’s hidden here, we won’t find it without that.”

Before I could respond, a faint growl echoed from the shadows.

---

We both froze.

The sound grew louder, followed by the scrape of claws against stone. My grip on my blade tightened as two pairs of glowing eyes emerged from the darkness. Rogues. Their mangy fur and emaciated frames marked them as exiles—wolves with nothing to lose.

“You take the left,” Sienna said, her voice steady as she drew her dagger.

I nodded, stepping into position. The first rogue lunged at me, its claws swiping through the air. I dodged, slashing my blade across its side. It howled in pain but didn’t falter, circling me with renewed fury.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sienna dispatch her opponent with ruthless efficiency, her movements a deadly dance of precision.

The second rogue lunged again, and this time I was ready. I sidestepped, driving my blade into its chest. The wolf collapsed, its growls fading into silence.

---

“Are you hurt?” Sienna asked, wiping blood from her blade.

“I’m fine,” I said, though my shoulder throbbed from the exertion.

She nodded, turning back to the pedestal. “We don’t have much time. If there are rogues here, others won’t be far behind.”

She began searching the shelves, her sharp eyes scanning the ancient texts. I followed her lead, rifling through the crumbling scrolls in search of anything that might point us to the Crown.

After what felt like an eternity, Sienna let out a soft gasp. “Here,” she said, holding up a brittle piece of parchment.

The text was faded, but the symbols were unmistakable. A map, partially torn but clear enough to make out its destination—a place deep within the northern mountains.

“The Frostfang Spire,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

I frowned. “What’s there?”

Sienna hesitated, her expression troubled. “If the Crown exists, that’s where it will be. But the Spire is more than a place—it’s a graveyard. No one who’s gone there has ever returned.”

---

The weight of her words settled over me, but I didn’t falter. The Crown was the key to ending this chaos, to stopping the bloodshed before it consumed us all.

“We’ll figure it out,” I said, folding the map and tucking it into my coat.

Sienna didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she looked at me, her eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite place—fear, resolve, and maybe even doubt.

“Elior,” she said softly. “If we find the Crown... promise me you won’t let it consume you.”

Her words hung in the air, a warning as clear as the bite of the cold wind outside.

“I promise,” I said, though a part of me wondered if such a promise could ever be kept.

As we left the Archives, the forest seemed darker than before, the shadows deeper and more menacing. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear.

The hunt for the Crown had truly begun, and with it, the battle for the soul of every pack.