Chapter 59 - Fifty Nine
The spirit path was colder this time. I felt it the moment Orrin placed his hand on my forehead and whispered the chant that loosened my soul from flesh. There was no gentle drift, no floating through warmth and light. My spirit was pulled like a thread through a storm—tugged by urgency, by fear, by a whisper I didn’t recognize until I landed.
Wind howled through pine trees. I blinked into fog. A familiar fog. This was Thornridge, or at least the echo of it. I stood on the edge of the forest, not far from the old council hall. But everything was washed in grey, dimmer than I remembered. As if the place had aged in my absence, and the spirit realm had preserved its sorrow.
Still, I could hear voices inside. And one of them made my chest ache.
"She abandoned the pack!"
A male voice—rough, full of bitterness. I stepped closer, every part of me tense.
"She didn’t abandon anyone!" Darius shouted.
I moved until I could peer through the wall. In the spirit realm, barriers of wood and stone were like mist. I passed through them easily and saw him.
Darius stood at the center of the room, fists clenched. His jaw was tight. His dark hair had grown longer, brushing his collar. His eyes—those steady eyes I once knew so well—were tired, shadowed. But they burned with a fire that hadn’t gone out.
Around him stood the council. Four elders, dressed in dark cloaks. And one of them, the one who had shouted, was Jeran. A wolf who had never trusted me.
"She chased dreams and fairy tales! We haven’t heard from her in moons. The warriors are restless. The borderlands are unstable. And the people—they’re afraid."
"She’s doing what none of us could," Darius growled. "Facing what we refused to."