Chapter 56 From the Soil They Rise
FROM THE SOIL THEY RISE
After that night, the bonded woke earlier than usual, their hearts heavy with what lay ahead.
Even though ávera’s air was always crisp and fresh, it was thick with tension as they met the warriors preparing to depart on their missions.
Kael, Zephyr, and Aeson stood ready, their hunts complete, their offerings laid out for the newly bonded mates—fresh fruits, fat boars, charged crystals, and flowers.
At the edge of ávera’s ancient woods, they exchanged their final farewells before departing with their teams.
Theron knew this moment was inevitable. He knew he might meet them again one day, or perhaps he never would.
But he had chosen wisely, and he trusted his brothers, not bound to him by blood but by soul.
Parting didn’t come easily. They had lived lifetimes together, grown under the same stars, trained side by side from sundown to dawn, hunted to feed their people, mourned their families.
They had shed tears as pups and as warriors, and now, for the first time, they had to separate.
Kael wept. His shoulders shook as he said his goodbyes.
Zephyr sighed heavily, as if this moment might crush him.
Aeson stood silent, but his clenched fists betrayed his pain.
They locked eyes with one another, a silent vow passing between them.
They would survive, find the other five, and one day, they would reunite.
Theron clung to that hope, even as the ache in his chest threatened to consume him. His little dove stood by his side, sharing his pain. She, too, had come to like these warriors. They were the family she never had.
That morning, as a tradition of the newly bonded demanded, Noel and Theron planted a tree near their home.
With hands and paws pressed into the soil, they whispered a promise: One day, their heirs would feast on the fruit it bore and run free beneath the open sky.
Perhaps one day, their little girl or their little pup would run through these lands.
Perhaps they would see the beauty of the world their parents fought for and eat the fruits of a healed land.
It was a gesture of gratitude to Mother Nature and a symbol of the future they hoped to create.
But the air was restless, not yet at peace.
The birds sang songs of war, their melodies distracting in the morning quiet of ávera.
The Vólkins stirred, restless for the days ahead.
Who could rest when the world was on the brink of change?
And who could sleep after witnessing the goddesses?
Their presence inspired faith in some, fear in others, and awe in all.
The females clutched their young, while the elders spoke of good omens. At the forefront, the warriors stood tall and strong, ready to set off. The Claw, the Shade, and the Crystal were prepared, standing with their packs in rows of four.
Noel and Theron scanned the army of Vólkins, their hearts swelling with pride.
The warriors were a sight to behold—broad, tall, and brimming with strength.
Many were eager, longing to see the world beyond the barrier, yearning to find their destined mates.
But beneath their pride and want lay a quiet fear.
How could they not be afraid? They had spent their lives behind the safety of the barrier, sheltered from the unknown dangers beyond. Yet, no warrior would let that fear take over. The call to find their mate—their other half—was too powerful to set aside.
With chests puffed in pride, muscles tense, and gazes sharp, they stood in silence and waited for the command to march.
Amid the cries of the young and the quiet weeping of loved ones, Elder A?na stepped forward to offer her final words.
Her voice echoing through the clear skies, she said, “We will wait for you all to return to our embrace. May the goddesses protect your souls and spirits, and may the earthly ones find their way back home.”
She leaned her forehead against Noel’s sword, the blade pulsing with life and glowing blue, mirroring the crystals that adorned its owner. The Rose—named the night before—hummed in response, alive in Noel’s grip.
Noel raised the Rose high, shining light over the gathered warriors. Blue roses sprouted from the soil beneath their paws, a blessing of the Lidé?en. Without a word, the warriors turned as one and began their march.
The journey had begun, and the world would never be the same.
For days and nights, they ran. Noel clung to Theron’s back, her sword raised high, its blade catching the light that broke through the ancient trees above.
It wasn’t only a weapon. It was a declaration to the world that the Vólkins were coming.
Behind them, the army surged forward like a storm.
The earth trembled under the weight of two hundred wolves.
Ahead lay their targets: the villages of Róvgrad, Borodyn, and Velkyna.
Smaller than the mighty five, but no less dangerous.
These villages stood as shields against ávera’s strength.
They were always prepared, always armed, their weapons honed and their men hardened by years of training.
Tárnov, the military capital, ensured their readiness.
Its forges burned day and night, producing steel strong enough to tear apart even the mightiest of foes.
These villages thrived on the fear of an attack that had never come—until now.
At least that was what the Lidé?en thought.