ALARIC
By the time the wind shifted again, the sun had begun its slow crawl through the trees.
Light spilled over the circle, catching the edge of Isolde's pale hair and the lingering smudge of ash at her cheek. She hadn't spoken much more since the kiss—her thoughts somewhere deep, far from him, but not unreachable.
Alaric hadn't pressed. Not yet.
But something in him had changed too.
The curse—always coiled tight in his chest like a blade waiting to twist—was quiet now. Not gone. But calm. As though it, too, was watching her.
He stood and offered her his hand. She took it without question, letting him pull her to her feet. Her fingers lingered in his a beat longer than they had to.
The moment their palms separated, the air felt colder.
"I need to check on the others," she said, her voice still a little rough. "Make sure the circle held through the night."
He nodded.
"I'll come with you."
--
ISOLDE
Inside the den, the light was thin—shafts of gold piercing the gloom like memory made visible.
The scent of smoke still clung to the stone walls, but the weight that had choked the space yesterday was gone. Not completely. But lessened. Lifted, even, in places.
The children still slept.
The sick no longer convulsed.
And the circle… held.
She felt it as soon as she stepped over the threshold. Like walking into a place protected not just by magic, but by intention. The blood she had given still darkened the edge of the stone, but the roots beneath it no longer groaned. They hummed. Waiting.
"Your work," Alaric said softly, behind her.
"No," she murmured. "Our work."
And though she didn't say it aloud, her heart added the words: and theirs—the wolves who had guarded this place in silence, afraid, but alive. The boy who'd found her. The mothers who had brought their cubs.
The den had not turned her away.
It had believed.
Now, she only had to make sure that belief would last.
--
ELDER MAREN
She found the old wolf waiting at the fire pit.
Maren's braids were damp with morning mist, her arms folded across her chest, eyes sharp as a hawk's. The scar across her nose caught the sun like a line of ice.
"You look tired," she said, not unkindly. But not warm, either.
Isolde inclined her head. "I am."
"And yet the wards still hold."
"They do."
Maren studied her. "I've seen magic snap back on its wielder before. Seen women burned out from inside just trying to shift a fever."
"I didn't shift it," Isolde said. "I rooted it."
"That's what worries me."
Alaric stepped forward. "If she hadn't, your people would be burying their pups this morning."
Maren's gaze flicked to him. "You speak like someone who's seen it before."
"I have."
Isolde touched Alaric's wrist—just once. A silent reminder. Let me speak.
She looked at Maren. "I don't want power. I'm not here to lead or demand. I came because someone asked for help, and I gave it."
Maren held her gaze for a long time.
Then, slowly, she nodded.
"Then I owe you an apology," she said. "And a promise. If you need this place again… it's yours."
Isolde's throat tightened. She bowed her head once. "Thank you."
--
THE SICK
She walked through the sleeping den, touching shoulders, checking pulses. Every child she'd tended still breathed. Some were even stirring, their bodies curled into more natural shapes now, the fever having broken.
But it wasn't over.
Two others—adults—had not yet recovered. Their eyes flickered when she touched them, and their shifts were still ragged. The rot had gone deeper in them. Not enough to kill. But enough to mark.
She leaned back on her heels, heart sinking.
"They were farther along," Alaric said from behind her.
She nodded. "I think it waits in them now. Quiet. Dormant."
"And it'll return?"
"Maybe. Or maybe it'll spread to the next vulnerable mind."
He didn't ask the next question. He didn't have to.
Yes, it could leave with them.
Yes, it could already be elsewhere.
---
ALARIC
They stepped out of the den just past midday, the sun warming their skin, the birds finally returning to the trees.
She said nothing at first.
Neither did he.
They stood together at the top of the rise, the forest stretched out before them like a sleeping thing. Beautiful. Dangerous. Hungry.
Finally, she turned.
"We need to leave soon," she said. "Before this thing catches up again."
Alaric met her gaze. "Where?"
"The Silver Forest," she said. "If it exists."
"It does."
She looked up, surprised. "You've seen it?"
"I've dreamed it," he said. "The trees. The river. The lake where the moon never sets. I've been there. Or I will be."
A beat.
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure of you."
"But before we can, we need to do this everywhere. If the wards are down here they're down all over and if the rot sets too far in it'll kill people before we can find the grove to seal it." Isolde murmured, her hand gripping onto Alaric's sturdy arm like it was a tether keeping her earthbound.
"Everywhere?" Alaric breathed, his eyes searching her face.
She nodded grimly, "Sealing the rot may kill me and if I'm gone I don't know who can do this. If the wards fail all over then if something else strikes the people will be lost."
"Fuck." Alaric grumbled, "Okay, this is going to be tricky but I'm with you. I'm always with you."
He reached down to press his warm forehead against her cooler one. Eyes staring deeply into hers.
"Is it weird if I tell you it feels like I've known you forever?" Isolde murmurs.
"You have. It's just neither of us really knows it yet." He answers, tilting his head to gain access to her lips. His fingers coil through her hair, pulling her closer.
She smiles into the kiss. It feels familiar. It feels like lightening. Like fire. Like waking from a long dream.