Chapter 102 — The Path Through Smoke
Rowan’s stare held steady on Seren, but his fingers curled slightly over the edge of the war table. The lanterns above flickered as if reacting to the tension building in the air.
“Explain,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Tell us what you saw.”
Seren stepped closer to the map, her fingers trailing across the worn parchment like she was touching a memory instead of mere symbols.
“In the vision,” she began softly, “you march at the first drop of light. Your warriors are ready. You’ve sharpened your blades, your wolves are eager for blood. But the Bonecaster knew you were coming. You’re met not just by rogues and mercenaries… but by something else. A creature twisted by bone magic, pulled from the depths of earth and death. It tears through your front lines like paper.”
She paused, her voice growing quieter with every word.
“I saw the forest turn red. I saw you fall, Alpha. And Giselle… she screamed your name as they dragged her into the dark.”
Rowan’s heart punched against his ribs. The air grew colder despite the heat of the tent. His gaze shifted briefly to Giselle, who stood completely still, her knuckles white around the hilt of her blade.
Kalen swore under his breath. Liam’s wolf rippled beneath his skin.
Seren’s eyes lifted again. “But that was one path. Only one.”
Rowan stepped forward, tension humming in every line of his body. “Then what’s the other?”
Seren’s lips parted slowly, like she was choosing every word with care. “You draw them to you. You don’t march into their jaws—you make them chase your shadow.”
“They’re already planning an attack,” Luther said, his voice rough. “Why wait for them to strike?”
“Because they’re counting on you to panic,” Seren replied gently. “They believe your pride will blind you. That you’ll charge in with every wolf you have and leave your pack vulnerable.”
Rowan’s brows drew together, gears turning fast in his mind.
“You want us to fake them out,” Kalen muttered, eyes narrowing. “Make it look like we’ve fallen for their bait.”
Seren nodded once. “Exactly. Pull back half your patrols. Make it seem like you’re thinning your defenses. Let them think their trap is working.”
“And then?” Rowan asked, folding his arms, his mind racing through the possibilities.
“Then you wait,” she said, her voice firmer now. “You let them come to you. When they breach your border, you’ll already have traps in place. Hidden wolves. Sealed paths. Poisoned ground if you must.”
“They’ll be trapped in the kill box,” Liam murmured, catching on quickly.
Seren’s eyes glimmered. “You turn your home into a weapon. Make them believe they’ve won until it’s too late to run.”
Giselle stepped forward, her voice quiet but strong. “What about the Bonecaster? Can you see her in the vision?”
Seren hesitated. “She stands back. She lets others bleed for her. She knows someone here has the power to match her, though she hasn’t yet discovered who.”
Avella tilted her head toward Rowan. “She’s afraid.”
Seren nodded. “Terrified.”
The silence that followed felt electric.
Rowan glanced around the table. His closest wolves stood ready—some cautious, some hungry for vengeance. But none of them were willing to throw away lives based on pride alone.
Finally, Rowan turned back to Seren.
“We’ll do it your way,” he said. “We bait them in, trap them on our terms.”
Kalen exhaled, a short nod of agreement.
“But if this fails—”
“It won’t,” Seren said softly. “Because this time, you’re not alone. You never were.”
Rowan’s gaze flicked to Giselle, whose eyes locked with his in quiet determination.
He nodded once, the decision made.
“Prepare the traps,” he said to Kalen. “Pull back patrols. And alert the scouts—we hunt shadows tonight.”
Rowan stepped away from the table, the murmurs of strategy continuing behind him. Giselle followed quietly, her fingers grazing his hand before slipping into his. They stopped just outside the war tent, where the cool night air did little to soothe the storm building inside her.
Her voice was soft, but heavy. “Rowan… are we really doing this? Bringing the fight here?”
He turned to her, jaw tense, his other hand braced on the tent post. “We don’t have a choice. If we take the fight to them, we lose. Seren’s vision—”
“I know,” she said quickly, then swallowed. “I know she’s right. I know you’re right. But I keep thinking… what if we’re wrong? What if this doesn’t go like we planned?”
Her gaze lifted to the treetops, to the vast woods beyond the border. “This is our home. What if we burn it down trying to protect it?”
Rowan pulled her into his arms, wrapping her close. “Then we rebuild it. Together.”
“But what if we can’t?” she whispered into his chest. “What if there’s nothing left to rebuild?”
The flap of the tent rustled, and Seren approached with her usual quiet grace, the moonlight catching in her dark, glinting eyes. She said nothing at first, only looked at Giselle, as though she saw more than what was in front of her.
“The Goddess has a way of giving us exactly what we need,” Seren said softly. “Even when we don’t yet understand the gift.”
Giselle pulled back from Rowan slightly, blinking at the young witch.
Seren stepped closer, her gaze steady, unwavering. “You fear what will be left behind after the battle. I understand. I’ve seen ashes and I’ve seen rebirth. But the question isn’t what will be left—it’s who.”
Giselle’s throat tightened, emotion blooming in her chest.
Seren’s voice was warm now, full of calm conviction. “Hold onto each other. Protect one another. The rest—the land, the stone, the walls—they can all be rebuilt. But your bond? Your pack? That is where the strength lies.”
She reached forward and gently took Giselle’s hand. “Have faith. The Goddess will guide the pieces back together. Right now, all you need to do… is survive.”
Rowan placed a hand on Seren’s shoulder, a rare gesture of quiet respect. Giselle looked between them, her chest still tight—but now steadied by something deeper than fear.
“Then we survive,” Giselle murmured, glancing up at Rowan. “Together.”
He kissed her forehead gently. “Together.”
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