Chapter 41
The morning after the attack was cloaked in oppressive silence.
The scent of charred wood filled the air, along with remnants of the horrors that had unfolded just hours before.
Smoke still clung to the ruins, curling in the early light like ghosts of the fallen.
Cindermoor had suffered, and yet, its people stood.
Alaric felt sick. His stomach twisted as he watched them gather, moving with solemn purpose. Every face was drawn. There was grief, but within it, something else. A quiet determination, a shared understanding that this was not the end. That vengeance would come.
The burial pyres had long since turned to ash, their flames having consumed the monstrous remains of the slain Noskari. Now, they needed to bury their own. It was time to lay to rest those who had fought, those who had not deserved the end they met.
Among them was Lord Aron Duskwood.
Alaric’s hands curled into fists as he stood at the crowd’s edge.
He could still hear it—Evelyne’s scream, desperate and piercing as she crumbled beneath the weight of her loss.
He could still see the blood on the earth, the look in Lord Duskwood’s eyes before one of Vaelora’s monsters sliced through his chest. It had been hell, and he had been powerless to stop it.
A group of elders stood over the freshly dug graves, their voices rising in a rhythmic chant. The words were foreign to him, but the sound was something he felt in his bones. It was ancient and sacred, and even the earth beneath him seemed to sag with sorrow, as though mourning beside him.
Evelyne stood at the forefront, silent and pale. Kaldrek was beside her, his presence calm and his gaze distant. But Alaric could see the fire in him.
The alpha looked feral. His jaw was tight, his shoulders rigid.
The man who had been so gentle with Evelyne, who had carried her through the night like she was the only thing holding him to this world, now radiated something primal and violent.
The grief in his eyes had festered into something sharper, deadlier.
If anyone so much as breathed wrong, Alaric feared they’d meet the brunt of his fury.
The Noskari had done this. They had taken Kaldrek’s people, his family, and his home. Now, there would be blood.
Alaric let out a slow breath and forced himself to look away.
Heidara stood nearby, her face marked with streaks of dried tears.
She had made it. Most of the pack had. But not all.
Too many lives had been lost, wolves from both Ironwolf and Glaciermaw.
Their ranks were thinner now, their strength pushed to the edge. Yet there was no turning back.
They still had to save Cillian.
But how the hell were they supposed to fight these demons again?
How could they reach him in time? They couldn’t afford another surprise attack, another massacre.
They had to move, and they had to do so carefully.
The eastern lands stretched vast before them, and the path to Nerathar was long and treacherous.
Vaelora’s numbers were unknown, and she would be waiting.
Alaric needed to speak with Kaldrek. And Obren.
When the burials had ended and the mourners began to scatter, he found himself in the center of a tense meeting. Kaldrek sat at the head, his fingers drumming impatiently against the wooden table. Holden, Ty, Nathan, and Obren were there, along with three warriors from Glaciermaw.
Alaric took his seat and exhaled. “We need a route. The fastest one.”
Obren nodded. “There’s still a lot of land between us and the mountains. The terrain will slow us if we don’t plan carefully.”
“Then we plan,” Kaldrek said, his voice edged with annoyance. “We move north by nightfall.”
“We need to be smart,” Nathan added. “We cannot risk being caught off guard again. We should assume Vaelora has sent more of them.”
“She has,” Kaldrek growled, eyes flashing. “And I don’t intend to let anyone live if they stand in our way.”
A heavy silence followed. They all knew what was at stake. They all knew what had to be done. The road to Nerathar would be long. And it would be bloody.
The dim light of Garek’s tavern flickered over the worn wooden table.
The tension among them was almost tangible, the weight of the previous night pressing on every set of shoulders hunched around the map Alaric had spread before them.
Holden and Obren were back at it, their voices sharp, cutting through the thick silence of the room.
“We take the western pass,” Holden argued. “The terrain’s rougher, but there’s more coverage. We stay hidden that way.”
Obren shook his head. “That’s foolish. The Noskari attacked us once. Do you think they won’t have their eyes on the same pass? They know we’ll head north. We need open ground, not an ambush waiting to happen.”
“Open ground means exposure,” Nathan cut in. “We can’t afford to be seen.”
Alaric listened quietly for a while, letting the argument loop around itself. Then he cleared his throat and finally spoke.
“The Noskari attack at night,” he said. The bickering stopped, and all eyes turned toward him.
He placed a firm hand on the edge of his map, the only one he had left.
“If we keep moving during the day, we can avoid them best. But that also means we need safe places to camp before nightfall. Wolves can push through exhaustion, but horses can’t. We have to plan for that.”
Obren folded his arms, studying the map.
“So what are you suggesting?”
“There are hills, high grasses, and scattered forests throughout the eastern lands,” Kaldrek added, eyes narrowing over the parchment. “We could use the land to our advantage. Keep to the forests when we can. Move fast when we need to.”
Alaric nodded. “It’s a start. But there’s something else.
” He hesitated, then traced a path along the map with his fingertip.
“I once found an abandoned trade route on a map back home. It doesn’t appear on this one, but I remember it.
If it still exists in some form, even overgrown, it could be our best chance at reaching the mountains undetected. ”
“There’s no such path,” Obren said flatly.
Alaric met his stare. “Not on this map. But I swear it was on another one. Maybe it’s been lost to time, but if there’s even a chance it still exists, we must find it.”
“So we’re supposed to chase after some path we’re not even sure is real? That’s ridiculous,” Obren said, shaking his head.
Kaldrek scratched the stubble on his chin as he thought about it. To Alaric’s surprise, he said, “It’s worth a try, Obren. We’re out of options.”
The others exchanged uneasy glances, but didn’t argue. Reaching the northeastern mountains would take at least three to four weeks, which was a problem for another day. For now, they needed a path and a plan.
The door burst open with a force that rattled the walls.
Evelyne stormed in, breathless, her face lined with exhaustion.
Her eyes burned with something fierce. She clutched a book to her chest, her fingers digging into the worn leather cover as if it were the only thing tethering her to the ground.
She didn’t so much as glance at the others seated at the table, didn’t acknowledge their meeting or the startled silence that followed her entrance.
Instead, she pushed between Kaldrek and Alaric, slamming the book onto the map sprawled across the table.
“Evelyne?” Kaldrek asked with a look of confusion.
“There’s a way to defeat her,” she declared, voice trembling with urgency. “And it’s the only way.”
Alaric stiffened. He had never seen her so wild-eyed and desperate.
“There’s a prophecy,” she continued, turning to Alaric as if willing him to understand. “There is something out there that can stop her.”
Kaldrek’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
Evelyne exhaled sharply, her fingers working furiously to flip through the pages.
“The witch in the marketplace recognized this book. The Lantern’s Keeper.
Selene knew what it was the second I pulled it from my bag.
It’s more than just a book. It’s a guide, or a key.
And the man who gave it to me back in Caltheris—he was a seer.
That can’t be a coincidence. He must have given it to me for a reason.
” She looked between Alaric and Kaldrek, gaze pleading.
“I know this sounds insane, but please just listen to me.”
She took a breath, steadying herself before continuing.
“We cannot take on the Noskari after what we witnessed last night. And we don’t know how many more Vaelora has in the north.
But we can’t just walk into this blind. We need a way to stop her.
And maybe—maybe this book, this artifact, is the answer.
” She hesitated, then pressed on. “A Hallowell witch wrote it. Perhaps the same one who performed the ritual a hundred years ago.”
“What ritual?” Kaldrek asked, and Alaric realized he had no idea what she meant.
The others fell silent, the tension in the room thickening as Evelyne quickly explained everything she and Alaric had uncovered. By the time she finished, Kaldrek’s expression had darkened, his hands curling into tight fists.
“You didn’t think to tell me about this?”
Evelyne snapped her gaze to him, her patience worn thin, her voice cutting.
“You never asked. And you never seemed to care about our mission, so I didn’t think it was worth telling you.
” She sighed and flipped through the book, eyes scanning the words.
“I thought this was just a storybook. But then Selene told us a Hallowell witch wrote it, and that got me thinking.” She paused as if realizing something.
“The seer in Caltheris told me Cillian should use this as a guide. And if he was truly a seer, then…”
Her hands trembled as she turned the pages. She skimmed her fingers over a passage as she read it aloud: