Chapter 4 A Path Written in Prophecy
A PATH WRITTEN IN PROPHECY
“In the silence of the night, he will hear the call of the one who was made for him.”
—ánya Volkóva
Theron
The cool night greets me as I leave the council room of ávera. The forest’s flourishing fauna surrounds me, the sounds of night creatures filling the air, yet there’s a strange quiet underneath it all. It makes me uneasy, as if something is just out of sight, waiting.
Lately, my dreams have gripped me like a paw around my throat that refuses to let go. Each night, I wake in a cold sweat under my fur, my chest heaving. The human female in my dreams . . . I can almost scent her. Her presence is like a ripple in the wind.
I’m built for battle, all muscle and fur. But these dreams . . . they’re battles I can’t fight. They shake me, leaving me disoriented in a way that’s foreign to me. When I wake, my claws flex into the furs beneath me, muscles ready to grab at something that isn’t there.
I’ve never seen her face, but I know she’s important. There’s a heat in her gaze, I know even though I can’t see it. She’s waiting for me, and I can’t escape the feeling that I need to find her. Now.
For centuries, we’ve been trapped in this invisible cage, behind a barrier that keeps us tied to ávera and its surrounding forest. It’s more than a boundary we cannot cross, it’s a prison.
We’ve trained, studied, and prepared, hoping to understand why it appeared and how to break free.
Despite our efforts, nothing has changed.
I’ve lost count of the years I’ve spent staring at the invisible wall, feeling its silent presence. It’s not something you can see, but every vólkin and spirit can feel it. The way the air grows dense when you get too close, the way the land beyond blurs, the promise of freedom unreachable.
Some have grown restless, their once-bright eyes dulled by centuries of waiting.
éldir, who tore at the barrier with his claws until they bled, or ásen, who sits in silence, rarely speaking anymore.
They’ve given up hope, accepted this prison as their fate.
Others have become angry, lashing out at the world inside the barrier, knowing there’s no escape.
The longer we stay caged, the more we lose our strength and our minds.
The goddesses themselves are bound by the barrier’s magic, powerless to help us escape. Their voices, once clear, have faded with each passing century until they became nothing but whispers.
Yet I refuse to give in to that silence. I have to believe that one day, the barrier will fall. One day, we will break free from this cage. And when we do, the one responsible won’t be ready for us, the starving beasts we are.
I roll my shoulders back, muscles tense beneath my thick pelt, and my claws flex against the ground as if digging into the earth will give me some sense of control. But it doesn’t. It’s too quiet.
“Theron.” Kael’s voice pulls me back. His white crystals glow against his golden-brown fur. My trusted warrior and dear friend, standing with his hip cocked to the side. “You look troubled.”
“They’ve changed . . . They’re more than just visions now.”
Kael frowns, and Zephyr, overhearing our conversation, steps in to ask, “You think it’s connected to the prophecy?” His yellow crystals gleam in the night, his deep brown fur moves with the bristle of wind that moves between us.
I shrug. The prophecy. It speaks of a leader, not from our own kind, but a human—a female whose vision will guide us, whose spirit will unite the six to restore harmony to our world.
She is meant to lead us. But who is she?
Where is she? The prophecy offers us no name, no face, only a promise.
“It could be. But we’ve studied it for so long, and we still don’t know exactly what it means. ”
Zephyr crosses his arms, his brown fur seems darker from this angle, and he too cocks his hip to the side. After spending so much time with Kael, he’s begun to mimic his stance. “We’ve never seen blue roses, yet you see them in your dreams. Maybe . . . maybe the time has come.”
“Maybe,” I repeat, looking down at my paws.
When I first saw the blue roses, I was as excited as a young pup. But the more I saw them without anything happening, the more my excitement faded. Maybe Zephyr is right.
Kael shakes his head. “You’ve always believed, Theron. Now we have to believe the most. Who knows, maybe our mates are near.”
I nod. “Thank you. You’re right. We need to stay sharp.”
We head toward the edge of the village and into the forest. Mate.
The mate I haven’t found yet. Vólkins are supposed to know their mate by scent, even from a distance.
I’ve heard the stories from Elder A?na, how everything changes the moment a vólkin catches that scent.
It’s not only emotional. It’s physical, instinctual, like they cannot control their body.
That longing has been with me for as long as I can remember.
Every day I wonder if today will be the day the barrier falls, the day I finally find her.
What will she smell like? What will it feel like when I recognize her?
I’ve heard it’s overwhelming, that nothing else matters anymore.
But I can’t let myself get lost in that thought. Not yet.
I have to stay strong. For her, for my people. They rely on me to lead, to be the one who stands between them and whatever’s out there, waiting beyond the barrier.
We are near the ancient trees around ávera. The patrol begins soon.
This forest is home to us. Every trail, every root is ingrained in our memory.
The procedure for these patrols is mine—small groups moving in rotations, never following the same path twice.
It keeps us alert and ensures no corner is left unchecked.
Even though we’ve never fought an enemy, I treat these patrols as if we could face danger at any moment.
It’s a discipline my people need, something that reminds them we must be ready for the day that everything will change.
“It’s been a while since I was assigned to this route,” Kael says as he moves a big stone back to its place, covering the mouth of a cave, then sighs. “And still, nothing.”
“You were at the barrier yesterday.” I scan my surroundings.
Every warrior has their role. I’ve divided the borderlands into sections marked by ancient trees and hidden stones only we vólkins would notice.
Each team reports back after their circuit, giving me a complete report of our land’s status by dawn.
It’s painstaking but necessary. This land is too important to leave unguarded, even if no one has crossed into our territory for four centuries.
Because one day we will have to fight for our land, because the prophecy was born for a reason.
As the night deepens, we return to ávera, where homes are grown from the earth itself.
My own stands in the middle of the village, shaped from the ancient trees, their roots and branches twisted together to form walls and archways.
The living bark hums with a pulse as it breathes with the forest. I walk in, and it’s too quiet.
I made this place with her in mind. Every curve of wood, every vine hanging from the ceiling was grown for the day my mate will arrive.
The nest in the center of the room, lined with furs from beasts I’ve hunted, lies empty, too large for just me.
For centuries, I’ve waited, each night spent alone, knowing the space beside me is meant for her.
But century after century, she hasn’t come.
The thought of finding my mate keeps me going, but one thought bothers me as the years stretch on.
Humans must have changed over the centuries.
Their connection to the spiritual has faded, and they’ve lost the bond we vólkins honor.
I wonder if my mate will even understand what it means, what we mean.
The thought of her not recognizing me, of her not feeling the bond as I will . . . is torturous.
Humans no longer live as long as we do. We were taught that over thousands of years, humans have died earlier and earlier, a sign of their lost connection to the world.
What if my mate has already died? What if she hasn’t even been born yet? I cannot think of it. The goddesses know what they’re doing.
I look through the open door. The fires outside burn low, lighting the paths.
The village is silent, younglings long asleep in their nests.
But even this peace can’t calm the unease in my soul.
Sleep won’t come, it never does on nights like this.
My home, though grown for two, feels emptier every night.
There’s no purpose in staying in, so I make my way toward the sacred glade, where the goddesses have spoken before. The path is familiar. My paws know every root and herb.
I kneel before the ancient stone at the heart of the glade and bow my head. “Great goddesses,” I whisper, “I seek your guidance. The dreams you’ve sent are powerful, but I need to understand. Please, show me the way.”
A faint sound pulls my attention upward. Through the gaps in the trees, I see a white dove flying through the night sky. Its wings spread wide, catching the moonlight as it circles above me, glowing against the darkness.
My chest tightens as I watch the bird dip lower. Something falls from its talons. A single blue petal floats through the air.
When the petal lands on my shoulder, so light, it feels too delicate for someone like me. I stare at it, my clawed fingers hovering just above, as if touching it might make it disappear. Could it be . . . ?
Since the barrier appeared, signs from the goddesses are not common. But this is unmistakable. The petal’s deep blue hue stands out against the dark fur covering my shoulder, and a shiver runs through me.
I glance up, catching the glint of the white dove soaring above.
My gaze jerks as Kael and Zephyr approach, their eyes wide as they take in the scene.
“Theron,” Kael breathes, “is that . . . ?”
I nod, feeling the soft petal beneath the pads of my fingers.
This is it.
“Gather the others,” I say, my voice firm. “We leave now.”
The day the prophecy was spoken, blue rose petals fell from the sky above.