Chapter 18: The Unwilling Prophet
Astra was given quarters for the night—a small, austere room with a breathtaking and terrifying view of the endless sky. Sleep was impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the faceless figure and felt the chilling touch of its claim.
MINE.
The word was a stain on her soul. She focused on her bond with Kaelen, using the warm, fierce, living energy of it to scour the feeling away. He was a bonfire in the darkness, and she huddled as close to that psychic warmth as she could.
Lykos, despite his injuries, had insisted on sleeping across her doorway. His presence was a physical comfort.
The next morning, Theron summoned them. The atmosphere in the throne room was even graver than before.
"Orion is recovering," the Chieftain said without preamble. "Your... investigation... has yielded a dire conclusion. This 'general' you speak of. Are you certain?"
"As certain as I can be," Astra said, her voice still raw. "The Rot is being directed. It's intelligent, and it's building an army of corrupted beasts. The Shattered Glen isn't just a infected site; it's a stronghold."
"Then we must assault it," Theron declared, his wings rustling. "We will muster our warriors and burn the corruption from the land."
"No!" The word was out of Astra's mouth before she could stop it. All eyes turned to her. "You can't. A direct assault is exactly what it wants. It feeds on death, on conflict. Your warriors would be walking into a meat grinder and coming out as part of its army. You'd be making it stronger."
"Then what do you propose, Human?" Theron's voice was icy. "We wait for it to scale our spires?"
"We starve it," Astra said, her mind latching onto the only strategy that made sense. "We quarantine the Shattered Glen. We create a perimeter. We hunt the corrupted beasts that leave the zone, but we do not enter. And we find a way to heal the 'wound.' We close the door it's coming through."
"Heal a century-old spiritual scar?" Corvus scoffed. "Such magic does not exist."
"It might," a new, familiar voice purred from the entrance.
Every head turned.
Leaning against the archway, looking utterly out of place amidst the stone and severity, was Riven. He had a lazy smile on his face, but his nine tails were twitching with sharp interest.
"Fox," Kaelen's voice growled through the bond, a distant, furious echo in Astra's mind.
"How did you get past our sentries?" Theron demanded, rising from his throne, his power filling the room.
"Oh, please," Riven said, waving a dismissive hand. "Your sentries look to the skies. They rarely check the shadows in their own halls. A simple illusion." He winked at Astra. "You've been busy, Star-Fallen. Causing quite the commotion. A sentient plague? How fascinating."
"What do you want, Kitsune?" Theron's tone promised violence.
"Why, to help, of course," Riven said, his amber eyes glinting. "The human's idea has merit. You cannot punch a shadow. But you can outsmart it." He strode into the center of the room, completely at ease. "The Kitsune have... records. Legends of the time before the Tribal Wars. Of the Weavers who could mend the fabric of the world. Their magic is lost, but the principles remain."
He stopped before Astra. "Healing a wound of that magnitude would require a tremendous amount of life energy. A counter-balance. You cannot fill a void with more void. You must fill it with light, with song, with... connection."
He looked pointedly at Astra, then at the distant, unseen Silvermane territory. "A bond, for instance, between an Alpha and his chosen, is a powerful thing. A symbol of unity where there was once discord. But one bond would be a drop in the ocean. You would need more."
A cold knot formed in Astra's stomach. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying your 'harem system' isn't just for your personal amusement, my dear," Riven said, his smile sharpening. "It's a weapon. Each bond you form creates a unique energy signature. A thread in the tapestry. To heal a tear that large, you would need a network of such bonds. A coalition of tribes, united not by treaty, but by a shared connection to you."
The audacity of the plan left the room in stunned silence. He was proposing that Astra systematically form deep, spiritual bonds with the leaders of the major tribes to power a ritual to save the world.
It was arrogant. It was insane. It was the only plan they had.
"The Wolf would never agree," Corvus stated flatly.
"The Wolf will have to be persuaded," Riven countered, his gaze still on Astra. "As will the Boar-Tusk Alpha, and others. You must become the Beastworld's Heart, Astra. Not just of one pack, but of all. It is the only way."
[New Primary Quest: "The Weaver's Gambit"]
[Objective: Form a Harem Network of at least three major tribal leaders (Wolf, Kitsune, Avian). Use the combined bond energy to enact the "World-Mend" ritual at the source of the Shattered Glen.]
[Warning: Failure means the complete consumption of the Beastworld. No pressure.]
Astra felt the world spin. This was too much. She was just a human. A student. She had come here to survive, not to become some kind of world-saving harem protagonist.
But as she looked at Theron's grim face, felt Kaelen's worried presence in her mind, and saw the chilling logic in Riven's cunning eyes, she knew she had no choice.
The Rot had a general.
And now, so did the Beastworld.
Her.