Chapter 225: Eldric Shows Up

Eldric looked oddly smaller in the doorway than she expected, as if the fact that his husband was not in the pack compounds had dealt a heavy blow to him.

Sophia didn’t understand how his husband leaving the pack could affect him this much. Orion—maybe she did understand that one, because if he wasn’t around, she would feel like her heart had been torn to pieces. Even right now, she felt a bit lonely without him. But at least he was alive. She was sure of that.

Eldric adjusted his crooked glasses, pushed a braid back behind his ear, and smiled in that soft, peculiar way he smiled whenever a puzzle delighted him.

"Yes, it is me," he said. His voice was steadier than Sophia felt, as if he had rehearsed the words all morning.

"Where have you been?" she asked him.

"I have been busy. I needed time—but that isn’t a matter that should concern you," he replied.

Sophia rolled her eyes. Typical Eldric. They hadn’t even spoken for long, and she was already getting annoyed.

She folded her hands and forced a small smile. "What are you doing here?" she asked him.

Eldric gripped a wooden box he had tucked under one arm. The grain was old and worn smooth at the corners, marked with faint rings and small chips from a lifetime of being carried and opened. He raised it slightly, holding it up for her to see.

"Okay? Did you come to give me a box?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

"I should have known you wouldn’t get the message..." he muttered.

"Because you didn’t tell me what it was for," she shot back.

He ignored her tone entirely as he continued, "...why would I give you a gift? You have not earned a gift from me, and I cannot give you the box as a gift either."

"Then why are you here?" she demanded.

"We have work to do," he said simply. "Did you forget that we translate what is written on the altar? We must translate."

Sophia released a sigh. How was it that he always appeared at the exact wrong moment? Where had he even been all those times she had searched for him?

"You hesitate," Eldric said, tilting his head.

"Of course I do," she retorted. "Where were you when I searched for you?"

He blinked at her, his face impassive. "In my home. I told you I needed time."

"So you avoided everyone," she concluded.

"I had to prepare," he replied simply, adjusting his glasses once more.

Sophia glared at him, then released a slow sigh. There was a reason she translated the language in the shrine—it was a mystery that had plagued those of the Nightshade Pack for generations. She had planned to surprise Orion, but perhaps that could wait. She would go to the shrine first. Maybe later, she would continue with the plan she had.

And besides, there was also the fact that her translating the language might have something to do with her lost memories. There had to be a reason why the language felt familiar, why every curve of its symbols resonated with something deep within her.

She adjusted her cloak, then turned to Eldric as she closed her door. "Lead the way."

They walked without much talk—Eldric’s steps were measured and even, Sophia’s brisk and impatient. Snow fell softly as they made their way outside the pack compound and toward the shrine. The world was hushed, the kind of quiet that came after fresh snowfall, when the trees seemed to listen instead of breathe.

Eldric’s pace was steady, deliberate. He didn’t speak, not even when the cold wind tugged at the hem of his cloak. Sophia found herself glancing at him occasionally, wondering what thoughts ran behind those unreadable eyes. He was a strange man—kind in his own distant way, but more comfortable with parchment and symbols than with people.

When they reached the shrine, the air seemed to shift. The forest thinned, giving way to the ancient clearing where the shrine stood. The structure itself was small but sacred—an age-old stone altar at its center, surrounded by spiraling carvings that shimmered faintly whenever moonlight touched them. Ivy crept up its base, and frost clung to the edges of the runes carved into the floor.

Sophia’s breath misted in the cold as they stepped inside. The faint hum she’d felt the last time she was here stirred again beneath her skin, that subtle vibration of magic she couldn’t explain.

Eldric moved with hushed precision toward the altar. He set the wooden box down beside it and opened it carefully. Inside were fresh parchment sheets, a small pot of ink, a quill, and a cloth-wrapped strip of leather that glowed faintly with old dust. The smell of aged parchment mixed with the faint iron tang of ink, a scent that always seemed to follow him.

He took out the quill and, as if by instinct, held it out to Sophia.

She reached for it—for the thin feather that had once acted as a key, unlocking something deep and ancient the last time she pressed her voice to the lines. But just before her fingers closed around the shaft, Eldric paused. With surprising quickness, he leaned forward and inhaled near her wrist.

Sophia jerked back, startled. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Eldric didn’t respond immediately. For a moment, he only studied her with those sharp scholar’s eyes, the ones that always looked as if they could see more than they should. Then, quietly, he said, "You have the mark."

She blinked. Her hand tightened around the feather without meaning to. "What mark?" she asked slowly.

He straightened and looked for a moment toward the altar, as though the stone itself might whisper a better answer than he could. "I was not wrong," he murmured finally, almost to himself. "I was right."

Sophia frowned, confusion cutting through her calm. "Right about what? You keep saying that and you never say anything. Tell me plainly, Eldric."

He turned to her, and the scholar’s mask slipped just a fraction. His gaze grew weightier, more private—something old and cautious flickering in the depths of his eyes. "I will explain," he said, "but not now. We are here to work. You must continue. You must translate."

Sophia gave him a long, doubtful look, then turned back to the altar. "You’d better explain it to me later," she muttered.

She found her place on the altar’s edge like a bone returning to its socket. Her fingers hovered over the stone, tracing the cold grooves where symbols glimmered faintly. The last time she had been here, she’d followed those same lines and heard a melody—a language that should not have been whole, but somehow was.

She remembered how the sound of her own voice had echoed through the shrine as she spoke it. She had written some of it down then, copying each strange, sacred phrase onto parchment with trembling hands.

Now, she picked up the ink and dipped the quill carefully. The faint scent of iron and ash rose from the pot. Her handwriting, though uneven, had carried the words faithfully. Before she began anew, she went back through what she had written the last time they were here.

Her voice came out soft, reverent, and sure as she read:

O Luna’mera, keeper of the wolf’s breath, hear our plea.

The moon’s light dims, and we kneel, begging her favour.

Our people mourn, lamenting the night she shrouds.

She still didn’t understand what the writer had meant or why they had written it. But since she was here, she would learn more.