The forest at night was never truly silent.
Even in the stillness, there were sounds — the low rustle of leaves, the distant call of a night bird, the soft snap of a branch under something unseen. Lyra Vale had walked these woods since she was a child, gathering roots and herbs for her remedies, but tonight felt different.
The air was heavier. The wind carried a scent she could not name — rich, earthy, and intoxicating. It made her steps slow without realizing why.
She had been searching for moonwort, a rare herb that only grew in shadowed places, when she saw the light. It was faint at first, a glow deep between the trees, moving as if carried by hands. She knew she should turn back. The elders in her village had warned her since childhood never to cross into the wolves’ territory. Not
