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Avynna and Baron exchanged wary glances, turning back to the messenger in front of them.

"You said Bavanda requires our presence? Did she ask you to tell us that?" Baron asked, his voice unreadable.

The messenger’s head remained bowed as he mumbled, inadherently, almost to himself. “The Princess, Bavanda requires your presence at the council hall."

Again, Baron turned to his wife. Those were the exact same words the messenger had said on entering. Something felt wrong.

Before another word could be muttered, the Messenger turned and walked away. Avynna's lips parted in shock.

“Baron, something is wrong. I don't feel good about this.” She immediately said.

Baron nodded too. "I don't feel good either. But there's only one way to find out what this is about.”

Avynna sighed, but nodded. “You're right. Let's go."

But she couldn't shake the unnerving feeling that was sinking deep in her guts. Since Loco left the night before, she had been very unstable. And now, this! She couldn't ignore the fear that was eating up her insides with cruelty.

The council hall was filled with an unease that buzzed beneath the surface like a nest of hornets. The room smelled of old wood, sweat, and the faint iron tang of fear. The council had gathered without warning, summoned by Bavanda herself—just like Avynna and Baron.

There was no formal message, no explanation. Just a demand that felt more like a command. Already, that alone set every seasoned wolf on edge.

Avynna sat stiffly at the end of the great oak table, flanked by Baron and Steve. The other council members—Elda, Jerick, Mara, and old Tomas—exchanged wary glances.

Something was wrong. They all felt it.

The door swung open with a thud, and Bavanda walked in.

No—not Bavanda. Not truly.

There was something off about the way she moved. Her eyes—once bright with mischief and warmth—now glinted like shards of black glass.

"Thank you all for coming," she said sweetly, her voice dripping honey.

Nobody responded.

Steve's hand brushed his dagger out of habit, muscles tight. Jerick, one of the oldest and boldest among them, stood up slowly.

“What is the meaning of this, Bavanda?” he asked, voice sharp. “You demand our presence like criminals called to judgment. This is not our way.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.

The clone tilted her head, smiling wider. "Ah, but perhaps it is time our ways... evolved."

That smile didn’t reach her eyes. Tension snapped taut in the hall, thick enough to strangle.

Mara, seated across from Avynna, leaned forward. "We have heard whispers," she said carefully. "Of deaths. Of darkness growing beyond our walls. We need leadership that listens—not dictates. What do you think you're doing?"

Baron, silent until now, narrowed his eyes. His wolf pressed hard against his skin.

"Enough games," he said roughly. "What do you really want? What is the meaning of this, Bavanda? You don't treat your elders like this."

The clone's smile faltered for a fraction of a second—a crack in the perfect mask. Then she exhaled, slow and deliberate.

"Very well."

Without another word, everything changed. The candles flickered. The walls seemed to bend inward. The air grew cold and heavy.

From the shadows behind her—from the very corners of the room—shapes began to ooze out. Dark, sinuous figures. Eyes like dying stars.

The council surged to their feet. Weapons were drawn, claws extended. The clone laughed—a sound that scraped across their bones.

"You were never meant to rule," she said. "You were meant to kneel."

The shadows struck.

Jerick was the first to fall—his mouth open in a silent scream as tendrils wrapped around his throat, dragging him to the ground.

Tomas threw a dagger—it sliced through one shadow, but another latched onto his leg, pulling him backward into the dark.

Baron roared, shifting halfway into his wolf form, trying to break free from the invisible weight pressing down on him.

Avynna fought to stay standing, clutching the table as a force slammed into her shoulders, driving her to her knees.

"No—!" Steve bellowed, slashing wildly, but the shadows were too many, too fast.

They weren't fighting creatures. They were fighting emptiness itself.

The clone walked among them, untouched. A cold satisfaction spread on her face.

Mara clawed her way toward Avynna, reaching out, but a shadow pinned her hand mid-air, forcing her flat against the stone floor.

"You should have embraced the future," the clone said softly, almost pitying.

Baron struggled to lift his head. His eyes locked onto Avynna’s. For the first time in decades, they shared raw, helpless fear. Their worst fear had happened right before their eyes.

The clone crouched before them, reaching out to cup Avynna’s chin between her fingers. "Don't worry, Mother," she whispered mockingly. "I’ll take good care of our people."

Then she rose, her cloak of shadows swirling around her, and turned her back on them. The pack’s leaders, the heart of their strength, lay crushed beneath her will. The world outside the council hall had already begun to darken.

***

The moment Loco stepped beyond the portal, the world changed.

The air was thick—heavy, like breathing through water. The ground beneath his boots squelched, soft and rotten, oozing black sludge with every step.

He gripped Bavanda tighter against his chest. Her body was frighteningly still—too light, too fragile. Only the faint, erratic beat of her heart against his wrist kept him sane.

The woods around him were not woods at all—trees twisted into grotesque shapes, like corpses mid-scream, their bark splitting with weeping dark sap.

Above them, the sky churned in unnatural colors—sickly greens, bruised purples, cracked veins of red lightning splitting the clouds. And every shadow... watched him.

Loco set his jaw and kept moving. He had forty-eight hours. Nothing else mattered.

The first attack came before dawn.

He heard them first—soft whispers, slithering through the trees. At first, he thought it was the cursed wind. Then he realized the voices were speaking to him.

"Loco..."
"Failure..."
"Monster’s son..."
"She will die because of you..."

He shook his head, snarling low in his throat. "Shut up," he muttered, pressing Bavanda closer to him.

But the voices grew louder.

Out of the mist, figures began to materialize. They weren't beasts, nor monsters.

It felt like… memories. Rather nightmares?

His mother stood before him—beautiful and strong, the way he remembered before she died. Her golden hair was drenched in blood. Her eyes—once so kind—were empty.

"Loco," she said, voice breaking. "You couldn't save me."

He froze.

A second figure emerged—a boy with messy dark hair, only a little older than Loco had been the day he'd fled the Dark Lord’s fortress.

His best friend—Eryn.

The boy who once taught him to fight, who covered for him when punishments loomed.

Eryn stumbled toward him, blood bubbling from his lips. "You ran," Eryn croaked. "You left me there to die."

Loco's knees buckled.

The weight of Bavanda in his arms kept him upright, barely.

"No," Loco whispered. His throat burned. "I didn't know… I didn't know they…"

The woods shrieked in laughter around him.

Another figure appeared—the worst of them all.

The Dark Lord.

Tall and cloaked, his face hidden behind the jagged mask of power he wore. Black smoke bled from his hands. And in his grip was a small, broken girl. She looked too much like Bavanda.

The clone’s laughter echoed in the air, merging with the Lord's cruel voice.

"She belongs to me now," the Dark Lord hissed. "You couldn't protect her then. You can't protect her now."

The ground split at Loco’s feet. Flames licked up from the chasm.

Loco roared, staggering back.

He nearly fell, but Bavanda whimpered softly against him. A small sound—weak and pained—it cut through the illusion sharper than any blade.

Loco squeezed his eyes shut. He shifted Bavanda higher, wrapping his arms protectively around her slender frame.

"I don't care what you show me," he rasped into the cursed wind. "You won't take her."

He opened his eyes, and charged forward. The illusions screamed as he barreled through them, but when he glanced back, the woods were empty. The memories had vanished. For now.

Hours blurred into a misery of endless steps.

Every muscle in Loco’s body burned. His shoulders throbbed from carrying her. His boots were soaked with rot and blood. The world twisted around him—sometimes he stumbled across paths that looped back on themselves, sometimes trees grew hands that tried to grab him.

Still, he pressed on.

Bavanda murmured once, barely a whisper. "Loco..." Her voice was so faint he nearly wept.

He leaned down, brushing his forehead against hers. "I'm here," he whispered. "I'm not leaving you."

She spoke again—words he couldn’t understand—something ancient and broken. But her breath against his skin was enough.

It gave him the strength to keep moving.

By the nightfall, exhaustion crushed him.

He stumbled into a clearing surrounded by blackened stones—ancient and wrong. The moon overhead was bleeding. The stars had turned their backs.

Loco sank to his knees, clutching Bavanda. His heart hammered painfully in his chest. He couldn’t tell where his blood ended and hers began.

Tears blurred his vision. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I'm sorry I wasn't faster. I'm sorry for everything."

For a moment, he thought he heard her laugh—soft and broken.nAnd then, he felt a hand. But it didn't feel like hers, it was way too rough.

Another hand reached from the ground almost immediately, clawing at his ankle.

Loco yanked back just in time as skeletal figures began dragging themselves free of the earth, mouths gaping open in silent agony.

He staggered to his feet. The world tilted.

He ran.

Through thorns that sliced open his arms, and through rivers that stank of death. Through forests that whispered his sins, he ran until his legs buckled. Until the world blurred into streaks of blood and ash.

At some point, he collapsed on a slope of black glass. He curled his body around Bavanda like a shield, panting, bleeding, shaking.

And somewhere far, far away—the faint, shining outline of a place shimmered into being.

He looked into it, and
hope flooded his chest. He was running out of time. He gathered her once more, rising on trembling legs.

One step at a time. He would get her there, even if it killed him.

Especially if it killed him.