166
The first sign came as a whisper of pain — subtle, but deep.
Avynna dropped the bowl she was carrying, clutching at her chest as a stabbing ache cut through her ribs. Nearby, Baron froze mid-conversation with Steve, his mouth half-open, hand instinctively flying to his heart.
The air around them seemed to twist, growing heavier. A shiver passed through the camp like a silent storm.
Across the broken training grounds, Loco staggered where he stood, leaning heavily against a post. He winced, breathing harshly, his heart slamming violently in his chest.
Something had snapped, but no one could name it.
The pack went on, brittle and restless, muttering that it must be exhaustion or stress. They pretended not to see the way the sky had darkened unnaturally, how even the birds had gone silent.
But in the shadows of the woods, the real reason gathered.
The clone Bavanda slipped out when the world slept, silent as a ghost, her steps weaving between gnarled trees and roots. She moved with purpose, her red cloak billowing like blood against the pale moonlight.
There, deep in the forest’s gullet, they waited—the shadows.
Figures cloaked in oily blackness, their forms barely human anymore, hissed greetings in languages too old to name.
"You called," the clone said, voice sharp and expectant.
A creature stepped forward, hood sliding back to reveal a face with no eyes—just smooth, glistening flesh.
It bowed deeply. "The true one has been silenced," it rasped. "You are unchallenged. The pack will kneel within the next phase."
The clone smirked, a slow, triumphant curling of her lips. She tilted her head back and laughed—soft at first, then louder, louder, until it echoed sickly among the trees.
Her lips parted. “I win.”
But not far off, hidden by instinct more than skill, Loco watched. His breath was ragged in his throat, disbelief pounding through him.
The true one has been silenced.
The words were a hammer blow. The surge of anger and panic that roared inside him nearly made him reveal himself—but he ground his teeth hard enough to bleed and stayed hidden.
The clone was not alone—too many shadows lingered—too dangerous to attack blindly.
Loco backed away, heart screaming.
He needed to move. He needed to act.
Now!
The run back to camp was a blur of trees and darkness. He burst into Avynna and Baron’s quarters like a storm, ignoring the gasps of the guards.
Avynna leapt to her feet, alarmed. "Loco?"
Baron stood tense behind her, already reading the fear on the young man’s face.
Loco tried to speak but choked—his chest heaving.
He wiped his mouth, tasting blood.
Finally, the words spilled out.
"I heard her," he gasped. "I heard Bavanda— that thing—with others. They said she—" he cut himself off, feeling the enormity of it, choking again.
"—they said the true one has been silenced."
The silence that followed was the loudest thing Loco had ever heard.
Avynna clutched the edge of the table to steady herself. Baron paled, looking ten years older in a blink.
"You’re sure?" Baron said, voice rough.
"I know what I heard," Loco said, every word a stone.
Avynna’s voice broke when she whispered, "My baby..."
Baron caught her when she stumbled, holding her fiercely as if his strength could keep the world from falling apart.
"We have to find her," Loco said. His fists were trembling. "I don't care what it takes. I will find Bavanda. I swear it."
Baron looked at him long and hard—a thousand emotions crossing his face—then gave a slow, grim nod.
"Go," he said. "Find her."
Avynna pressed something into Loco’s hand—a small, worn pendant, silver and shaped like a crescent moon.
"She always wore it," she whispered. "Maybe it’ll lead you to her."
Loco closed his fingers around it like it was life itself. Without another word, he turned and ran into the night.
The forest seemed endless.
Twilight bled into darkness, and still, Loco ran—driven by nothing but raw instinct and the weight of Avynna’s pendant against his chest.
He didn’t stop to rest, nor think.
Every snapped twig and rustle of leaves felt like a whisper pulling him forward. Or was it a warning pulling him back?
His legs ached, lungs burned, but he couldn’t turn around.
Somewhere out there—Bavanda was waiting.
Or dying.
Or worse.
The thought made his vision swim with rage and fear. "Hang on, Bavanda."
By the time midnight struck, the woods had shifted around him.
The trees grew taller, knotted together like skeletal hands. The ground pulsed faintly under his boots, each step sending tremors up his spine.
Loco slowed, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Something was wrong here.
The world felt too still—not silent, but watchful. As if unseen eyes tracked his every move.
He pressed forward, heart hammering, until the air grew thick—almost viscous—like trying to move through oil.
A whisper curled through the darkness. "Come closer..."
He froze.
Ahead, a strange shimmer danced between two ancient trees—a ripple of silver and blue light, barely visible.
A portal.
It called to him.
At the same moment, a voice—faint, desperate—brushed his mind.
"Loco... please..."
It was her.
Without hesitation, without a thought of danger, he lunged forward.
The portal swallowed him whole
The world shifted.
Loco stumbled out the other side into a realm painted in soft golds and muted silvers—the air humming with ancient energy.
He fell to his knees, gasping. And there, in the center of a wide, misty clearing, lay Bavanda.
His Bavanda. She was crumpled on the ground like a broken doll, skin pale, lips slightly parted, her hair splayed around her like a crown of night.
She wasn’t breathing.
He screamed her name, crawling to her side, hands frantic, trying to find a pulse— anything.
“Bavanda—Bavanda, no, no, no—!”
He shook her lightly, then harder, tears blinding him. That was when he felt a presence behind him.
He spun, ready to fight—but it was only Atena.
The Moon Goddess’s emissary stood tall and serene, her golden robes flowing around her as if caught in a non-existent breeze.
Her expression was grave, her eyes shimmering with sorrow.
"You are not too late," she said softly. "But you are close."
Loco couldn’t find his voice. His whole body trembled.
Atena knelt beside Bavanda, placing a hand lightly on her forehead.
"There is a way," she said. "A sacred path, but it is fraught with peril. If you wish to save her, you must carry her to the place where the Moon first touched the earth—the Silver Cradle."
"The... Silver Cradle?" Loco rasped.
Atena nodded. "It lies west of here, beyond the Shrouded Hills. You have forty-eight hours. No more."
Loco wiped his face with a trembling hand, nodding desperately. "I’ll do it. I’ll carry her there. I’ll get her back."
Atena looked at him with a sorrowful kind of pride. "You will face darkness. You will face yourself. Do not falter."
"I won’t," Loco said, voice hardening. "I swear it."
He gathered Bavanda into his arms, cradling her against his chest. She was so light. So fragile.
His heart broke all over again.
Atena stepped back, lifting her arms.
A soft pulse of light surrounded them, pushing back the mist.
"Go," she whispered. "Before it's too late."
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