Chapter 215

DANE

I look down at the glowing runes on my chest, still too warm to seem quite real.

“Yeah,” I say, but the heaviness of Lirien’s words clings to the back of my mind.

The grove is well, but at what cost remains to be seen. The pack steps into the resurgence of life forced onto the grove.

Their eyes were wide in features still covered with some incredulity, they slowly went inside the clearing, looking between shining trees and restored roots.

“Beautiful,” someone finally whispers, breaking the awed silence.

Lirien stands at the edge of the clearing; his form now is much more solid, nearly human. The glow emanating from inside the grove steadies it, lending him an air of quiet authority.

“The curse is broken,” he states with solemnity. “Now, for once, the pack can fully flourish as it deserves.”

Aurora releases my hand and steps forward. Her eyes scan the grove, pride, and anguish wrestling for dominance in their vibrancy.

Lirien cocks its head to one side. “The grove has accepted your sacrifice,” it says. “But your mortal ties to the pack have saved you. The balance is restored, and your bond is no longer required to sustain it.”

I watch the tension that has weighed on Aurora’s shoulders since this began to ease a little, her shoulders relaxing, and for the first time in days, she seems at peace.

The pack closes in, voices rising as talk starts about what this means to all of us. Gone is the weight of the curse, and with it the divisions that plagued us for generations.

I see Piper laughing with Warrick, the two of them trading banter like none of the horrors we faced just happened.

Trajan stands a little distant, his expression guarded, his guilt loud in the way he refuses to meet anyone’s gaze.

“I’ll make it right,” he mutters, to himself, not to anyone else.

I don’t approach him. Not yet.

Aurora steps back to my side, her hand brushing mine as we leave the grove behind. The pack starts to follow, their footsteps lighter, their voices brighter.

The walk back to Broken Ridge is different. The air is clear, the tension that once clung to us like a second skin gone. By the time we finally reach the packhouse, the ruins that once spoke of our brokenness don’t seem quite so impossible.

The wolves scatter, their spirits buoyed as they start to speak of rebuilding.

“One step at a time,” I mutter to myself, and for once, the thought doesn’t feel overwhelming.

I was now out in the garden at the back of the packhouse with Aurora, a lot later in the night. The ground was damp beneath our feet, smelling of earth and greenery mixed with cool night air.

She sat beside me on a stone bench, her fingers interlaced through mine. For a while, we say nothing; the silence speaking for us.

She reaches up then, presses her hand to my chest, tracing the runes with her fingers where they glow in the moonlight.

“Does it hurt?” she asks, her tone soft.

I shake my head, offering a small smile. “Not anymore.”

She nods, her gaze falling to the joined hands between us.

“I don’t know what this means for you,” she admits. “But I do know you didn’t choose it.”

I squeeze her hand tighter. “Neither did you, but you carried it anyway. So can I.”

Her lips curve in a faint smile, even as her eyes remain serious. “We’ll figure it out together.”

The moon rises higher in the sky and long shadows throw their way across the garden.

We sit in silence until a faint howl cuts through the stillness. It’s low and mournful, the kind of sound that raises the hairs on the back of your neck.

Aurora stiffens beside me, snapping her eyes toward the horizon. “You hear that?”

I nod, my chest clenching. “Yeah.”

We rise, and our senses sharpen as we gaze out into the dark outside the packhouse.

The howl isn’t repeated, but the unease it leaves in its wake does.

“What was that?” she whispers, barely audible.

“I don’t know,” I admit, my hand instinctively going to the hilt of my blade.

The garden feels different now, the peace we’d found moments ago replaced by a creeping tension.

The grove is healed, but something else is stirring.

The glow of the grove stretches across the horizon, bathing everything in silver light. The trees, once twisted and corrupted, now hum with life, their luminous fruit swaying gently in the breeze.

I stand next to Aurora, her hand clutched tight in mine. She’s pale and seems to be exhausted, with only shallow breaths escaping her mouth, but the relief in her features mirrors mine.

“We did it,” she mouths, her voice trembling a little in disbelief.

I look down at the faintly glowing runes on my chest, their heat still alien to me.

“Yeah,” I say, though the weight of Lirien’s words clings to the back of my mind.

The grove is healed, but it remains to be seen at what cost.

Slowly, the pack arrives, lured in by the renewed energy of the grove. Faces of awe, or those of disbelief, step into the clearings; eyes scan through the glowing trees, restored roots.

“It’s beautiful,” someone whispers, the stunned silence broken.

Lirien stands at the edge of the clearing; now its form is more solid, almost human. The glow of the grove seems to steady it, putting an air of calm, reassuring authority into its words.

“The curse is lifted,” he says in his grave tone. “Now the pack can prosper as it should have.”

Aurora lets go of my hand and takes a step forward. Her eyes scour the grove, her face unreadable: pride and sadness.

Lirien tilts its head to one side. “The grove has accepted your sacrifice,” it says. "But your mortal ties to the pack have saved you. The balance is restored, and your bond is no longer required to sustain it."

I watch the tension that has weighed on Aurora’s shoulders since this all began slowly easing as, for the first time in days, she finally looks at peace.

Their voices rise one after another, speaking to what it will mean to every one of us, the weight of the curse that for the first time in generations has vanished along with the divisions that plagued us.

The pack closes in. I see Piper laughing with Warrick, both of them teasing back and forth, like the terror we just survived never happened.

Trajan stands a little aloof, his face closed. Guilt’s there in the way he avoids looking at anyone.

“I’ll make it right,” he mutters, more to himself than to me. I leave him be… For now.