Chapter Five
We gathered at the edge of the Wilds just as twilight conceded its last fragments of light.
The path ahead glowed with that distinctive shimmer that meant the forest had decided to be seen.
This was the place we had tried to meet Gideon at before…
the night the Priestess pressed against our village while hiding away our missing link.
The mushrooms appeared first, as they always did, rising out of the shadowed earth like constellations that had decided the sky was overrated.
Caps glowed in soft reds and pearled whites, some flecked with gold, others pulsing gently as if breathing.
The season’s change brought a kaleidoscope of fungi rebellion with their new shades of mushroom tops.
Their stems curved toward one another, creating natural arches and rings that marked the way forward. The ground beneath my shoes felt springy and alive, not unstable, just responsive, as though the forest acknowledged each step and adjusted accordingly.
The Wilds opened wider as we moved in, branches bending without breaking, leaves whispering secrets they had no intention of sharing fully.
Splinters of moonlight caught on spider silk strung between roots and low boughs.
Everything smelled green and damp and ancient, layered with a sweetness that reminded me faintly of honey and rain.
This was the heart of it. The place where the circle had been meant to close the first time.
At the center of the clearing, the mushrooms formed a wide ring, their glow brighter here, colors deepening into rubies and amethysts. The earth within the circle was bare and dark, rich with promise and memory, and scattered leaves.
Symbols had etched themselves faintly into the soil over time, not carved, not forced, but remembered. The Wilds never forgot where vows were meant to be made.
I slowed, my breath catching despite myself. No matter how many times I stepped into this place, it always felt like crossing into a story that had already been unfolding long before I arrived.
“This is where it ends,” Twobble whispered, awe softening his usual bravado. “Or begins. Hard to tell with circles. But the point is don’t bump the mushrooms and certainly don’t inhale.”
“I second that,” Nova murmured.
My mom stood just inside the tree line next to my dad.
She looked so different than the Mom of my childhood and the Mother of my adult life.
Her presence, since she harnessed her past, had become softer but unmistakable.
She wore a shawl the color of moss and moonlight, her hands clasped together as she took in the clearing with eyes that knew exactly what this place was, even if she had once tried to run from it all.
When she looked at me, something in her expression eased, like a knot loosening that had been tied for decades.
Beside her stood Keegan’s mother.
The Silver Wolf didn’t glow or shimmer or announce herself in any obvious way. She simply was. Her hair caught the light strangely, silver threaded through dark, and her gaze was steady and sharp, taking in every detail of the circle, the forest, her son.
When her eyes met mine, she inclined her head, not quite a bow, not quite a greeting, but something that acknowledged shared ground.
Relief washed through me, because I suddenly trusted everything was as it should be, and that alone worried me.
Keegan moved closer to his mother, and the space between them held years of absence and unspoken understanding, but it didn’t feel broken. It felt… possible.
And then he stepped inside the circle.
The rest of us took our places slowly, guided more by instinct than instruction.
Gideon hovered at the edge of the circle, not yet stepping in.
I watched him from the corner of my eye, noting the way his shoulders tightened, the way his gaze flicked toward the forest as if measuring distance.
His magic stirred restlessly, brushing against the Wilds and recoiling, not in discomfort, but in unease.
For the first time since I’d known him, he looked uncertain.
Skittish.
Good.
My dad stood where the earth felt densest, his boots sinking just slightly into the soil. My father positioned himself opposite Gideon. His posture was calm, and his breath was steady. The quiet miracle of his presence humbled me.
I stood where the book had instructed me, where the lines of the incantation had been etched into my memory.
Nova traced the edge of the mushroom ring, staff gliding over the air just above the caps, careful not to disturb them. Stella lingered near the perimeter. She held her magic tight, ready to step in if needed but trusting the Wilds to do what they had always done.
I wondered, not for the first time, why the Priestess wanted Malore’s Hunger Path to win so badly.
What did she gain from a world stripped down to endless wanting, from power that devoured itself?
Was it belief? Control? Or simply fear of what would happen if the Path ended and something gentler took its place?
The thought slipped away almost as soon as it formed.
It didn’t matter, not tonight.
Whatever the Priestess’ reasons, whatever bargains she had made, they would not be decided here.
Soon, the Hunger Path would be put to rest.
The Wilds pulsed, and the mushrooms brightened in response as if they had heard the same unspoken truth.
The air grew thick and charged, humming softly against my skin. Somewhere deep beneath the clearing, something ancient turned its attention fully toward us, and my skin tingled with awareness.
I stepped forward, feeling the circle accept my presence without hesitation.
The ground warmed beneath my feet, steady and sure.
I looked around at the faces gathered here, at the strange, imperfect constellation we had become, and felt a calm settle over me that had nothing to do with confidence and everything to do with readiness.
Gideon swallowed and tipped his chin up to the sky.
My pulse climbed as worry set in that he was about to harness his dark magic after all. The mushrooms flared briefly, but settled, and their glow adjusted to include him rather than reject him, and I realized I could set aside my fears for now.
I met Gideon’s gaze and saw it then, clear as anything the Wilds had ever shown me.
He knew.
He knew this was the night.
The Hunger Path had led us all here, winding and cruel and persistent, but it had reached its end. The Ancient Rites waited patiently beneath our feet, older than fear and ambition, ready to be remembered.
The sky above the clearing shifted as clouds parted just enough to reveal a scattering of stars. The shadows retreated to the edges, unhappy, restless, but powerless to stop what had already begun.
I drew a steady breath, feeling the Wilds gather close, feeling the circle tighten not as a trap, but as a promise.
Tonight, the story would change.
Nova lifted her staff, and the Wilds answered.
The glow of the mushrooms deepened, their caps brightening until the clearing felt cupped in light, as though the forest itself had leaned inward to listen. The air thickened, as every breath hummed with expectation.
“By root and ring,” I began. “By vow remembered and vow renewed. We call the circle to witness itself.”
The ground beneath our feet warmed, and the faint markings etched into the earth brightened. Lines traced from the center like veins filling with light.
I stepped forward when Nova nodded, feeling the circle accept me instantly. Keegan moved beside me as the air crackled faintly around him. My dad followed as if he had been walking toward this moment longer than any of us realized. Gideon hesitated for half a breath, then stepped in last.
The link tightened, and the mushrooms settled into a wary glow.
I felt it like a thread pulled taut through my chest, connecting us. It wasn’t binding or trapping us, but aligning us in ancient magic.
Four points of the same story converging as the Wilds grew quiet
“By hunger named and hunger refused. By choice reclaimed from shadowed paths. We stand not as victims, nor as conquerors, but as keepers of the light and the moon.”
The sky above us darkened abruptly. Clouds surged together, blotting out the stars, shadows spilling across the clearing like ink. The mushrooms dimmed, with their glow straining against the shadows. The colors flickered as though the Wilds themselves were bracing.
Pain lanced through me without warning. It was sharp and immediate, a white-hot seam tearing from my birthmark outward, flooding my senses with memories that were not mine.
Cold stone, endless want, burning desire. The hollow ache of reaching and never arriving.
I gasped as my knees threatened to buckle, but the ground rose to meet me, firm and unyielding, holding me upright.
Gideon cried out, a sound torn from somewhere deep and feral. His gaze snapped to mine, eyes darkening until the pupils swallowed nearly all the light.
For a terrifying heartbeat, the familiar arrogance vanished entirely, replaced by something raw and ravenous.
Something hungry arose from his chest as panic flared in mine. Was this how it was supposed to go or was he altering the Path?
Fear flared. Had we miscalculated? Had the Path twisted the Rite, found a way to feed on it?
Before the thought could fully take shape, Keegan’s breath hitched beside me.
I turned just enough to see his eyes do the same, hazel burning down to shadow and darkness.
His jaw clenched so tight I heard his teeth grind.
Magic coiled in him and surged, wild and furious, as the curse clawed for dominance.
My dad groaned, his hands curling into fists, shoulders bowing as if under an immense weight. His eyes darkened too, reflecting the same abyss I saw in the others.
It wasn’t going wrong.
It was working.
The Ancient Rites pulled the truth from their souls, burying the darkness and upholding the light as the Hunger Path fought to regain its stronghold.
But every man who’d stepped into this circle did it with pure intentions. The Wilds exposed their truths, and the Ancient Rites wove through their veins.
Three shifters giving themselves fully to the ancient magic that had pure intent.
“Hold,” Nova commanded, and the word carried power. “Do not turn away.”
Their bodies writhed as truths poured through them and acceptance of another way barreled through them all. My heart tightened as I looked at my dad and Keegan, giving themselves fully to this process, not just for themselves but for the good of all magical folk.
“I can’t…” Gideon’s voice frayed at the end.
The mushrooms flared brighter in response. Their light surged outward, reinforcing the circle as shadows pressed harder against its edge.
The Wilds didn’t retreat. They tightened as the Ancient Rites stitched themselves anew, piece by piece, through these three men.
I forced myself to breathe, grounding my awareness in the link between us.
I felt Keegan’s fury like heat, Gideon’s desperation like a cold pull, my father’s endurance like stone.
And beneath it all, the Hunger itself writhed, exposed and furious, stripped of subtlety now that it had been dragged fully into the light.
I found my voice, the words I had memorized rising unbidden.
“By the first choice made in fear,” I said, my voice shaking but clear. “By every choice made after, believing hunger was the only truth. We see you.”
The pain spiked, then shifted, no longer tearing outward but pulling inward, drawing something dark and tangled up from the depths of us. The ground trembled as if the Wilds were urging it on.
Gideon staggered, a harsh laugh ripping from his throat.
“You don’t get to take this from me,” he snarled, though the words sounded more desperate than defiant.
“I’m not taking it,” I replied, meeting his gaze despite the ache burning through me. “You’re giving it back.”
His expression faltered.
Keegan growled low in his chest, the sound vibrating through the link.
“You never owned it,” he said, voice rough. “It owned you.”
The Hunger Path recoiled, a wave of pressure slamming into the circle. The sky split with a crack of thunder, lightning spiderwebbing through the clouds without striking. The mushrooms dimmed dangerously low, as if they were about to be extinguished.