Chapter 55: Shadows of the Fallen

The morning air bit at Sophia’s lungs as she jogged along the snow-dusted trails skirting the Nightshade Pack’s compound, her boots crunching rhythmically against the frozen ground.

The sky hung low, a heavy gray promising more snow, while the towering pines loomed like silent sentinels, their branches sagging under fresh powder. Her breath puffing in white clouds as she pushed to keep pace with the pack’s young warriors and hunters-in-training. Sweat beaded her forehead despite the cold, her muscles burning from the relentless pace, but her vibrant blue eyes gleamed with determination.

She’d joined the morning runs as Orion ordered, and she’d be damned if she lagged behind.

Among the runners, Dren stood out, his unruly hair bouncing as he matched the group’s stride. He was dressed in training gear suitable for the run, his eyes catching hers with a nod of recognition, his freckled face flushed from the run. As the group rounded a bend, Dren slowed slightly, falling in step beside her.

"We meet again." He said in greeting.

Sophia huffed a laugh. "At least this time, it’s not because we are doing something we aren’t supposed to be doing." She told him making him laugh.

"I never thought I’d see you here though, running with us aspirants." He told her.

She eyes him with blatant curiosity and surprise. "Is that what you guys are referred to as?" She asked him.

Dren chuckled. "Nah, that’s just something I came up with."

Sophia didn’t say anything more as they continued their pace, after some minutes of running and hard puffing breaths from Sophia, Dren spoke up.

"You’re doing alright," he said, his voice low but encouraging, barely winded. "But you’re tensing your shoulders too much. Loosen up, breathe deeper. It’s about endurance, not sprinting."

Sophia shot him a sidelong glance, her breath ragged. "Easy for you to say," she huffed, but she adjusted her posture, rolling her shoulders back. "What’s the trick to this stamina thing, then?"

Dren grinned, his freckles crinkling. "Long breaths, steady pace. Imagine you’re chasing a Skylur, not racing one. We do this every morning, five miles, sometimes ten if the instructor’s feeling mean."

"Ten? I can hardly survive one and you are telling me we could be doing ten?" She asked him.

Dren shrugged his shoulders. "If you want to be a warrior then, you have to deal with it."

"I only want to learn to fight to defend myself. I don’t plan on being a warrior or hunter or a guard." She told him.

Dren looked shocked but then shook his head. "Everyone saw what happened yesterday. You are lucky to be training under Alpha Orion even if it’s just to learn to fight."

"Lucky?" She breathed out. "More like unlucky. Only the gods know what he has in store for me."

"Alpha Orion wouldn’t treat you badly." Dren told her.

Sophia gave him a look. But didn’t say anything in reply to that. It seemed, Dren didn’t really know his alpha after all.

She nodded, gritting her teeth as she pushed through the burn in her legs. The trail wound past rune-etched boulders, their faint glow a reminder of the pack’s protective magic, and she focused on Dren’s advice, matching his rhythm.

The other runners, a mix of lean hunters and burly warrior trainees, moved like a pack, their steps synchronized, their faces set with purpose. Sophia refused to be the weak link and struggled to keep pace with them.

Meanwhile, in the heart of the compound, Orion stood in the communal hall, a sturdy stone building with high rafters and a roaring hearth. The air smelled of woodsmoke and fresh bread, the tables piled with supplies, sacks of grain, barrels of salted meat, and baskets of root vegetables for the upcoming Festival of the Fallen.

The hall buzzed with activity, pack members weaving through with purpose, their voices a low hum of preparation. Orion’s broad frame was steadier now, his pallor fading as the Trihydra venom receded, though a faint wince crossed his face when he moved too quickly. His hazel eyes scanned the room, sharp and assessing, his brown hair tied back, revealing the last traces of venom scars on his neck.

Ronan stood beside him, his blonde hair catching the hearth’s glow, as he checked a list scrawled on parchment.

"We’ve got enough food for the feast," he said, his voice upbeat but focused. "Serena’s got the residences ready for the returning scouts and hunters. They’ll start trickling in tonight."

Orion nodded, his gaze flicking to a group unloading crates of dried herbs and candles for the shrine. The Festival of the Fallen was sacred to the Nightshade Pack, a day to honor those lost during the Enclave’s brutal raid years ago, when the pack was cast out into Nirvana’s cold embrace.

The morning of the festival was for mourning, most people did a solemn trek to the shrine outside the compound, where they claimed the Moon Goddess’s presence lingered in the rune-etched stones.

At night, the pack celebrated, sharing stories of the fallen, updating them on the living, loves found, children born, battles won, as if their spirits lingered in the starlit air.

"We’ll need more warriors on guard tomorrow," Orion said, his voice low, authoritative. "Most of the pack will head to the shrine to mourn. It’s exposed out there, and with Skylurs roaming closer..." He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

Ronan glanced up, his eyes narrowing. "You know, some scouts reported more Skylur tracks deeper into Nirvana than usual. Something’s stirring them up, maybe the same thing tying them to the Trihydra. We can’t leave the compound undefended."

Orion rubbed his neck, the faint scars itching under his fingers. "Agreed. Double the patrols around the shrine and the compound’s perimeter. Madam Tyler’s reinforcing the charms, but we can’t rely on magic alone."

Ronan nodded, jotting a note. "And the Nirvana expedition? We need to know what’s driving them, magic, or something worse."

"We’ll move right after the festival. I’d lead it myself, but..." He gestured vaguely at his side, where the venom’s lingering ache still gnawed.

Ronan clapped his shoulder, his grin mischievous but warm. "You’re not fooling anyone, idiot. You’re still half-dead. Besides, Brynhild’s on bed rest, and Lysander’d have my head if I let you go charging into the forest." He paused, his tone sobering. "I’ll take the scouts and a few warriors. We’ll track the Skylurs, see what’s unsettling them. Maybe we’ll find a lead on what’s actually going on."

Orion hesitated, his instinct to lead warring with his recovery. Finally, he nodded. "Fine. But take Gregory and Sam. They’re sharp, and Sam’s the fastest if things go south. I want reports every step of the way."

Ronan saluted mockingly. "Yes, sir, alpha sir. Now, let’s get these candles sorted before Serena chews us out for slacking."

Orion snorted, a smile breaking through, and they set to work, directing pack members to stack supplies and carve wooden markers for the shrine. The festival’s weight hung over them grief for the fallen, like Orion’s father Alaric and Tobias’s father Timothy, mingled with the pack’s resilience, their refusal to let loss define them.

The hall filled with the clatter of preparation, laughter mixing with somber murmurs, a testament to the pack’s unity.

Back on the trail, Sophia’s lungs screamed as the run stretched into its final mile. Dren stayed beside her, his steady pace a quiet encouragement. "You’re keeping up," he said, his voice warm.

She managed a weak grin, her legs like lead. "I’m as shocked as you are." she panted.

As the runners reached the compound, the trail opening into the training grounds, Sophia slowed, her hands on her knees, gasping. The instructor in charge gave them the go ahead to go back to their respective homes since there would be no training for the day but if anyone decided to stay behind, then they could.

Dren clapped her shoulder, his freckled face split with a grin. "See you tomorrow."

"You are not staying?" She asked him.

"No, I need to help my mum with something. I promised her I’d be back after the run." He told her.

She nodded, too winded to reply.