The village hadn't sounded this quiet in years. No laughter, no gossip, not even the sound of the smith's hammer striking metal. Only the restless hum of the wind through broken shutters.
Tomas sat at the edge of the longhouse table, hands clenched, eyes fixed on the faint burn marks on the wood. The same marks from the night she was taken. Exiled, they said. For the safety of the pack.
But everyone knew it was fear that drove them fear of her power, fear of what she'd become.
"She's gone, Tomas," came Elder Haru's voice, hoarse with age and guilt. "The decree was final. You'll do no good brooding over it."
Tomas lifted his head slowly. His gaze was sharp, hollowed from sleepless nights. "You think this will end it? You think sending her away kills what's coming?" His tone dripped like venom. "You've only cut off a limb and left the infection to spread."
Haru's jaw tightened. "Mind your tongue, boy."
"Mind your conscience," Tomas shot back, slamming his palm against the table. The echo cracked through the silence, sending two of the younger wolves near the door flinching.
No one dared move.
The air hung heavy with something unspoken.
Outside, the sky had turned the color of bruised steel, wolves paced the perimeter, tense, restless. Rumors had spread that the forest was moving again shadows crawling where light used to reach. Tomas knew what that meant. She'd warned them.
He pushed back from the table, breathing hard. "You all think she was the danger," he muttered, pacing toward the door. "But she was the shield. And you just tore it off."
The door creaked open, cold air flooding in.
"Tomas!" a young voice called from the edge of the path. It was Maren, panting, her braid loose, eyes wild. "You need to see this now."
He didn't hesitate. The two of them sprinted through the mud slick lanes, past half shuttered homes and wary faces.
When they reached the north ridge, Tomas froze.
The old boundary stones the ones meant to glow faint silver when the moon rose were cracked down the middle. Smoke bled from their cores like veins of ash.
Maren whispered, "The wards are dying."
Tomas's heart thundered.
He looked toward the horizon, where the forest loomed like a sleeping beast. For a heartbeat, he thought he saw it shift branches bending, roots writhing as if something deep beneath the earth was stirring.
He swallowed hard, whispering her name like a prayer. "Lira…"
And then, faintly, the air shimmered. Just for a moment. Like the echo of a power that refused to die.
Maren caught it too her eyes wide, face pale. "Tomas… did you feel that?"
He nodded slowly, jaw set. "She's still out there."
A gust of wind ripped through the ridge, scattering leaves and dirt, carrying a distant, haunting howl. It wasn't a call of pain it was a promise.
Tomas clenched his fists. "They exiled her," he said under his breath, eyes blazing toward the forest. "But she's not done."
And somewhere deep in the wilds far from the safety of walls and rules the wind answered back.