Novelas y relatos de Oblivion Standing Stones

They reached the Ironroot Standing Stones at dusk. The final ridge curved upward like the spine of a sleeping beast, lined with jagged rocks and wild grass. Beyond it lay a flat, circular plateau, and in its center—tall, silent, and weathered by time—stood twelve stone monoliths. Each bore a sigil etched in gold and ash. Some glowed faintly in the waning light. Others pulsed with unseen energy. Racheal stopped just short of the circle, her chest tight, her wolf whispering beneath her skin.

A place that remembered without insisting. She walked steadily, the hours arranging themselves without drama. Hunger arrived gently. She ate. Thirst followed. She drank. Nothing demanded escalation. Near midday, she noticed a shape ahead that did not belong to the ground. At first it was only contrast—a vertical interruption against the plain’s low horizon. As she drew closer, it resolved into stonework. Not a building. Not a ruin. Markers. A line of standing stones, unevenly spaced, weathered into softened forms that suggested intention without precision. They ran east to west, not straight, but guided—adjusting subtly to the land’s rise and fall.

Kael said, his voice firm and filled with a peace he had never known, "we go home. Not to the Citadel of Thorns. But to a pack that deserves its Luna." The Standing Stones remained, but the history they held had been rewritten. The forgotten bloodline hadn't just returned; it had risen. And as the Nightfang column began the long walk back toward the valley, the moon remained visible in the morning sky—a silent, silver promise that the night would never be that dark again.

"I stayed. That is the short version." I did not push further. ††††††††††††††††††††††††† We had been in the valley for perhaps an hour when I found the stones. Seven stones stood at the center of the Vellmoor, half swallowed by moss and creeping vegetation. Each one reached roughly to my waist. They were arranged in a pattern that was too deliberate to be accidental, and too worn to be anything but ancient. They were different from the surrounding rock. Darker. Almost black, with a faint iridescence that caught the light at certain angles.

Not with the elders standing at the front—six robed figures forming a cold, unmoving circle around the ancient claiming stone. The stone itself was a massive slab of black obsidian, cracked from age and etched with deep claw marks left by past Alphas. Some stains on it would never wash off. They were built into its history. Draven stood closest to it, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tightly a muscle twitched just under his ear. He kept looking toward Jason’s balcony like he expected something to go very, very wrong. He was right. Because today was not peaceful. Today was not sacred.

We kept climbing. The pass opened onto a high plateau, windswept, barren except for a few stubborn pines clinging to cracks in the stone. In the center stood a circle of standing stones—tall, weathered, arranged like silent sentinels. Moss clung to their bases; runes spiraled up their sides. Genesis slowed. “This is sacred ground. No blood has been spilled here in centuries.” I stepped forward, drawn, almost against my will. The stones hummed. Not sound—vibration. Deep in my chest, like a second heartbeat syncing with mine.

And she simply wasn’t here. Walking aimlessly, with no particular plan for where I wanted to go, I found myself following the old dirt road that led to the only place that I could think of that was secluded and rarely anyone went to. The standing stones. Time did not seem to alter the stone in the slightest. They looked now, as they ever did in the past. The surrounding stones sitting on angles that shouldn’t hold under gravity, yet they did. The central stone, fallen and sitting proud in the middle of them all. Heather, gorse and bracken covered the ground in great swathes, making it difficult to pick my way through the undergrowth.

She looked around and saw no one. Instead she came face to face to the street view. She held onto the bannister and lazily leaned on them as she gazed at the dark silhouettes in the night. Their apartment building is located in a secluded part of their town and on the far front is the Alterax woods. The trees lined up in front with some infested with fireflies making them look shimmering.

We met in the war-room, a chamber carved from stone, its walls etched with the history of the Lycans. Zane stood at my side, surprisingly calm though I could feel his own worry and fear through our bond. Bryce and Clara waited already, maps spread across the table, and several scouts silently kneeling at the far side of the chamber. “Stone Watch,” Clara said, tapping the map with one finger when we got closer. “It’s here. Beyond the northern ridge, past the abandoned watchtowers. The terrain is treacherous; it has ravines, fog, and caves. If the cult chose it, they’ll likely have traps set already.”

And somehow, they were waking inside her. The stone circle stood at the northern ridge of the territory, hidden among thick trees and jagged rocks. No wolf dared hunt near it. It had always been an eerie place, forgotten and avoided. Now I knew why. The stones themselves were enormous, each one twice the height of a man, weather-worn and blackened in places. Moss clung to their bases. Strange symbols had been carved into their surfaces, faded but not gone. Oscar followed behind me in silence. Even he didn’t try to speak here. I stepped past the threshold of the circle. The air changed immediately. Cooler. Heavier. Like stepping into another world.