Shrouding The Novels & Stories

I take time to stretch and shake as she secures the phones inside her bra before climbing onto my back. I immediately start running, enjoying the feel of the earth underneath my paws, and the icy wind blowing through my fur. Though, I do have to shake my head every so often to counteract the sting of Iselyn’s tight grip around my neck, pulling at my fur. She buries her face between my shoulderblades to keep the wind out of it. She’s light enough that if it weren’t for that I probably would forget that she was even there.

"Marx. Kill you for the master." As the shrouded figure held it in check, the shadow tried to crawl towards Marx. It hissed, looking around at the one getting in its way. The extended hand of the shrouded figure couldn't seem to stay in one form. It shifted from shadow to flesh to shadow again.

Sloane dropped into a crouch behind one of the large, manicured shrubs. Then she wiped the raindrops off her glasses, taking stock of her surroundings. The coast was clear, and her path was straightforward enough. If she hugged the wall, the shrubs would cover her nearly all the way to the pohutukawa tree. Then she could hide herself among the tree's large, twisted branches until she'd found her prize.

ATHENA'S POV The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the dense forest. I moved silently through the underbrush. Clad in a cloak that concealed me, I ventured out, my steps careful and calculated. The cloak served as a shroud, hiding my identity as I departed from the safety of my pack territory.

"When the world seems daunting and shadows loom large, know that here you are shielded, here you are invulnerable." Nestled within the embrace of nature's beauty, this sanctuary seemed to exist beyond the boundaries of time itself. Tall trees, their verdant branches reaching toward the heavens, stood as stoic guardians, their rustling leaves murmuring secrets to the wind. A tranquil river meandered nearby, its soothing song a constant companion to my thoughts. The sun's golden rays, filtered through the lush canopy, created a dance of light and shadows that painted the ground with shifting patterns, a metaphor for life's ebb and flow.

It sang. Green shadows began to curl around my body—sheets of them, elegant and smooth like silk ribbons. They danced across my skin, brushing away the pain, curling against the scars the nightmare had left behind. They covered me, shielded me from the void that had tried to swallow me whole. I was held. Cradled, even. As if the darkness couldn’t touch me anymore. As if someone had wrapped their magic around me, whispered you’re not alone into the cracks of my soul.

"We leave under the cloak of the next moonrise. May the ancients guide us through the darkness to come." Under the cloak of moonrise, we navigated through the dense forest that encircled the Forbidden Glade. The trees arched overhead like silent sentinels, their twisted limbs casting ghostly shapes upon the forest floor. A thick fog slithered between the trunks, its tendrils curling around our legs as if trying to slow our advance. Every sense was heightened, every rustle of leaves a potential herald of danger.

We didn’t speak, only exchanged glances when the mist shifted or the air turned unnaturally heavy. But just before we reached the boundary of the Loreng Fen ruins, Halvar halted. “We’re about to enter a passive shadow zone. But the conduit may have stationed guardians here.” “Can we avoid them?” I asked. Zehra shook her head. “No. But we can make them not see us.” She pulled out three small pouches filled with ash-like powder. “This is trail-dust. It’ll mask our auras for about two hours. After that, we’ll need to re-shield or risk being tracked.”

Holding the moment steady so it would not collapse into something lesser. The grasses wrapped over her layer by layer. Slowly at first… then with growing intent. To acknowledge what lay beneath them with something close to reverence. They covered the point of impact, sealing the fractured earth gently, refusing to let it remain open to the world’s harshness any longer. A quiet shroud formed… woven not from force alone, but from something that felt almost like acknowledgment. It was like respect given shape. The spiral tightened. Then… A light flickered within it.

“We are.” He gets a few loyalists—guards, lower lords wary but willing. We head to the undercroft, stone steps cold, candles flickering. The vault entry looms, sealed with a glowing ward, red and pulsing like blood-ink. As we approach, shadows move—shade-binders, ambushing, runes sparking. One grabs me, pain rising, the curse screaming. Akira shouts, auras colliding, but the ward glows brighter, set, waiting for my touch to kill me.