CHAPTER 109

The day passed in a blur of frustration. Bavanda had spoken to every elder, every healer, and even the wisest wolves in the pack, but none had answers.

"You’re different," one had said cautiously. "But we do not know why."

Different. As if she didn’t already know that.

Bavanda hesitated outside the elder’s home, her hands clenched into fists. The small wooden cabin, nestled at the far edge of the pack’s territory, was surrounded by ancient trees that whispered in the wind. The air smelled of old parchment, dried herbs, and something heavier—something ancient.

This was the home of the wisest elder in the pack. If he didn't have answers, no one would.

Inside sat Elder Lutheran. His fur had turned nearly silver, and his eyes, though aged, still held the sharpness of someone who had seen too much. He was said to have knowledge beyond what books could offer, a connection to the Moon Goddess herself.

Taking a deep breath, Bavanda knocked.

“Enter,” came the raspy voice from within.

She pushed the door open, stepping into the dimly lit room. Candles flickered along the stone walls, casting eerie shadows. Lutheran sat at a wooden table, his long fingers tracing the rim of a steaming cup. His gaze settled on her immediately, piercing through her like he already knew why she was there.

"You seek answers," he said before she could even speak.

Bavanda exhaled sharply. "Then you know something is wrong with me."

Lutheran studied her for a moment, then motioned for her to sit. She hesitated before lowering herself onto the chair across from him.

"I know you are afraid," he said slowly. "Tell me, child, what do you hear?"

Bavanda swallowed hard. "Voices, I hear voices. But not normal voices. I can hear people's thoughts—without a mind-link, everyone's thoughts. And it’s not just whispers, it’s getting worse. It’s so loud I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not."

Lutheran didn’t react immediately. Instead, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if listening to something beyond her.

She shifted uncomfortably. "You don’t seem surprised."

"I have seen many things, Bavanda. But I have only heard of this once before." His voice was measured, careful. "A wolf who could hear the minds of others without a bond. A gift... or a curse."

Her heart pounded. "And what happened to that wolf?"

Lutheran opened his eyes, and for the first time, she saw hesitation in them. "They lost themselves."

Silence filled the room, thick and suffocating.

Bavanda’s hands trembled in her lap. "What… what do you mean?"

Lutheran sucked out a slow breath. "The mind is fragile. It is not meant to hold the thoughts of so many. The power consumed them. Their own voice was drowned out by the countless others, and when they could no longer tell who they were..." He paused, his fingers tightening around his cup. "They became something else."

Bavanda felt cold all over. "What... what did they become?"

Lutheran met her eyes. "A beast without a soul."

Her stomach twisted. She could barely breathe. "But I can control it," she said quickly, almost desperately. "I just need to learn how."

Lutheran studied her, his expression unreadable. Then, he reached into the folds of his robe and pulled out a small chain holding a dark red amulet.

"This may help," he said.

She frowned. "What is it?"

"It quiets the mind. It will not take away your ability, but it may help you silence the noise long enough to regain control."

She hesitated before taking it. The object was cold in her palm.

"But Bavanda," Lutheran warned, his voice heavy with meaning, "this is only a temporary solution. Whatever is happening to you—it is not natural. And unnatural things do not simply fade away."

Her grip on the object tightened. "Then what do I do?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Marcellus leaned forward. "Find the source. Before it finds you."

Bavanda thanked him, scurrying away afterwards. The next place she visited was the library.

She scoured the ancient library, desperate for some clue. The dusty old tomes whispered of legends, of cursed bloodlines, of wolves who lost themselves to darkness. But none spoke of what she was experiencing. Instead, every page she turned sent fresh horrors into her mind—visions of bodies torn apart, eyes void of life, blood painting the walls of places she did not recognize.

The worst part? Some of the faces in her visions felt familiar.

By the time evening fell, she was exhausted—mentally and physically—but she couldn’t give up.

She needed to try again, and she had to keep trying, until everything was right again.

The field was silent, bathed in the dim glow of the moon. No one trained at this hour, hence they'd be no one watching her.

It was perfect.

Bavanda took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

"Come to me." She whispered in the darkness.

She reached inward, searching for her wolf. She could feel the presence, faint but real. Her heartbeat quickened in anticipation.

"Come on..."

But nothing happened. She didn't know her wolf long enough to even have a connection with her, but she knew, her wolf was supposed to listen to her. She was supposed to show up when Bavanda needed her.

So where was she?

Bavanda gritted her teeth, pushing harder, willing the shift to happen. Her bones ached as if responding, but there was no transformation—no fur, no claws, not even a whisper of her usual strength.

Nothing.

She collapsed to her knees, breathing heavily. The frustration built inside her like a storm.

"What’s wrong with me?" she whispered to the empty night.

There was no answer, not like she was expecting one.

Defeated, she pushed herself to her feet and turned back toward the packhouse. Elder Lutheran's words kept ringing in her ears—if she wasn’t careful, she’d lose herself completely.

She couldn't afford to let that happen.

Bavanda found her way to her bed, but sleep didn't come easy. She tossed and turned, but her own thoughts were too loud—louder than the voices that had haunted her before.

"What if I never shift again?"
"What if I hurt someone else?"
"What if this isn’t just in my head?"

"What if I'm actually cursed?”

Eventually, she gave up. Lying in bed was useless if she couldn't get any sleep. She needed air.

She walked without her flip-flops, so as to attract less attention. Ignoring the cold tile, she stepped outside, burying her shivering hands in her clothes as she made her way to the pack's garden.

The garden was quiet, the scent of flowers barely noticeable against the chill of the night air. She thought she was alone.

Until she saw it.

A figure lay motionless on the ground, half-hidden by the tall grass.

Her instincts screamed at her to turn back—to run, but something held her in place. A pull—faint, yet undeniable.

Slowly, cautiously, she stepped forward. The figure was a girl. Dark hair splayed across the ground, her breathing unnaturally shallow.

Something about her felt... wrong.

“Hello?" Bavanda called, her heart pounding in her chest.

There was no response.

“Hey there. Are you okay?" She tried again. Yet, the only sound she could hear was her heart racing.

Bavanda knelt beside her, hesitating only for a moment before reaching out. As soon as her fingers brushed the girl's shoulder, she gasped.

The girl’s head tilted slightly, exposing the back of her neck. An unrecognizable symbol, black as ink, was burned into her skin.

Bavanda’s breath caught in her throat. She had never seen anything like it.

Then the girl’s eyes snapped open. Where her black pupils should have been, a glowing white was there instead. Bavanda's eyes widened as she stared into the emptiness of the person in front of her.

The next minute, however, she let out a scream.