Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Maple Ward was quiet in the way only living places could be when they were thinking.
I stood at its edge with my hands tucked into the sleeves of my sweater, breathing in the soft, amber-sweet scent of leaves and sap and earth that had known many seasons without needing to name them.
The canopy overhead glowed with that peculiar Maple Ward light.
It wasn’t quite sunlight and not quite magic, but something in between that warmed me from the inside out.
Leaves drifted lazily to the ground, each one landing with intention rather than gravity, as if they knew exactly where they belonged.
I’d come here because I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t feel the call of the dragons, and frankly, I wanted them to know I could make decisions without asking them every step of the way.
Granted, the outcome of what was about to take place could prove that theory right or wrong and make me wish I had.
But in less than an hour, I would be leaving Stonewick and the Academy behind. We’d be leaving the wards that had become my anchor.
And despite all the planning, all the meetings, all the careful nods and reassurances, I still didn’t know what I was going to say when I stood in front of thousands of displaced orcs who had every reason not to trust a witch from a town they’d never called home.
I walked deeper into the Ward and smiled.
The Maple Ward had always felt different from the others. The Flame Ward burned with purpose. The Stone Ward held firm. The Butterfly Ward transformed.
But the Maple Ward listened.
It remembered beginnings, and it honored endings. It knew that growth didn’t happen without discomfort, and that connection was the only thing that made the stretching worthwhile. It required light and dark to survive.
“I could really use your advice,” I murmured, feeling a little foolish and not caring. “I don’t know what I’m offering them. I don’t know what I’m asking. I don’t even know if I’m the right person to be doing this. If you’re wondering who I’m talking about, it’s the orcs.”
The Ward responded the way it always did, not with words, but with sensation.
The light shifted, deepening into warm golds and reds, the colors of change rather than decline. A breeze moved through the branches, stirring the leaves into a slow spiral around me. One brushed my cheek, another landed against my palm, its surface faintly warm.
Connection, the Ward seemed to say. Not control.
I closed my eyes.
“I can’t promise them safety forever,” I said quietly. “I can’t promise Stonewick can hold them. I can’t promise the Priestess won’t keep pushing.”
The leaves rustled again, firmer this time.
Growth requires honesty.
“I don’t even know if they want peace,” I admitted. “They might just want somewhere to stop running.”
The ground beneath my feet warmed, steady and reassuring.
New beginnings don’t start with certainty.
I let out a breath that trembled despite my best efforts.
“You’re right. New beginnings don’t start with certainty. They start with the first hopeful step of believing there is another way.”
Everyone seemed to think I had answers simply because I’d stepped into this role, because the Academy invited me, because ancient magic hummed when I walked past.
But I was still figuring it out. I was still learning and doubting myself with every other breath.
“I’m afraid,” I said, the truth slipping out before I could stop it. “Not just of what might happen out there. But what happens if I get this wrong?”
A maple branch creaked softly overhead, bending without breaking.
So are they.
That stopped me.
I opened my eyes and looked around, really looked, at the Ward as if seeing it for the first time. The maple trees weren’t rigid. They weren’t brittle. They bent with the wind. They shed what they needed to. They adapted to the seasons instead of fighting them.
The orcs weren’t marching because they wanted war.
They were marching because their world had stopped supporting them.
“You’re telling me to meet them where they are,” I whispered. “Not where I want them to be.”
The Ward answered with warmth that spread through my chest, slow and steady.
Offer what you can. Ask what you must. Listen more than you speak.
I nodded, a little laugh slipping out of me despite the tension coiled tight in my ribs. “That’s not very specific.”
The leaves swirled again, this time playful.
Neither is growth.
I sank down onto a low stone at the center of the Ward, resting my elbows on my knees. My mind raced despite the calm around me. What could I offer thousands of orcs without overpromising? Temporary refuge? Mediation? A voice against the Priestess’s influence?
What could I ask without sounding like yet another authority figure trying to steer them?
Peace. Time. Choice.
“Choice,” I repeated softly.
That felt right.
They deserved the chance to choose something other than desperation.
The light in the Ward dimmed slightly, like the moment just before dusk. I felt it before the pain arrived—a familiar, unwelcome heat blooming against my hip.
My birthmark burned.
It wasn’t a warning this time. It was a summons.
I sucked in a sharp breath, pressing my hand to my side as the sensation intensified, bright and insistent. The Ward’s warmth shifted, no longer reflective but urging.
Time’s up.
I wasn’t sure which one of us thought it.
“I know,” I said through clenched teeth. “I’m going.”
The pain flared once more, then settled into a steady throb, the kind that didn’t allow hesitation. My path was set, whether I felt ready or not.
I stood, brushing leaves from my clothes as the Ward seemed to draw closer, the trees leaning inward slightly, enclosing me in a cocoon of gold and red.
For a moment, I felt held.
Seen.
And maybe that was all the orcs needed.
What if they craved connection over control?
“I’ll do my best,” I promised it. “That’s all I’ve got.”
The breeze stilled, satisfied.
As I turned to leave, the path through the Ward opened smoothly, guiding me back toward the Academy, toward Keegan, toward whatever waited beyond Stonewick’s borders. The burning at my hip reminded me with every step that the moment had arrived.
I didn’t have all the answers.
But I had enough to begin.
And sometimes, that had to be enough.
By the time I stood in the courtyard with my pack slung over one shoulder and the Academy buzzing behind me, I was forced to confront a very specific truth.
At no point in my life plan had I accounted for traveling toward the Hollows with hundreds of vampires, a seer, a fox shifter, a wolf shifter, a goblin perched on a bramblemule, and my general sense of self-preservation flapping weakly in the breeze.
And yet.
Here I was.
The bramblemule in question was a riot of color and attitude, its vine-wrapped legs sturdy and patient as it shifted its weight and flicked a thorny tail.
Twobble sat atop it like a conquering hero, legs dangling, arms crossed, surveying the growing group with the smug satisfaction of someone who’d packed snacks and opinions in equal measure.
“I just want it noted,” he said loudly, “that I suggested a wagon.”
“You suggested a rolling spa with cup holders,” Stella replied, adjusting the collar of her coat and eyeing the mule with open skepticism. “This is somehow worse for battle.”
“This won’t be for battle,” I corrected.
Lady Limora stood nearby, serene as ever, her presence anchoring the cluster of vampires gathering behind her.
They were an eclectic group, some dressed in long, elegant coats, others in more practical travel gear, but all of them watched the horizon with a quiet intensity that set my nerves humming.
Hundreds of vampires were not a subtle traveling party, no matter how polite they were about it.
Nova checked the contents of her satchel for the third time, her fingers brushing crystal vials and folded charts. Bella paced in a loose circle, her fox energy contained but restless, tail flicking as if she could already sense the shifting magic ahead. Keegan stood at my side.
“This is happening,” I murmured.
Keegan glanced at me, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It is.”
“I’m not even sure what I’m offering them,” I admitted. “Or what I’m asking.”
“Good,” he said gently. “Means you’re not trying to control it.”
I snorted softly. “That’s one way to look at it.”
Behind us, the Academy doors stood open, not urging, not restraining. Or at least acknowledging that the choice had been made.
I took a breath and turned to address the group, my voice carrying farther than I expected. “All right. We move carefully. We don’t provoke. We listen first. If anything feels wrong, we stop.”
A chorus of nods followed, solemn and reassuring in equal measure.
And then the air shifted.
It wasn’t sharp or alarming, but it was enough to make the hairs on my arms stand up.
I turned, already knowing.
Caleb emerged from the edge of the Wilds with a quiet confidence that made my stomach flip.
He wasn’t alone. At least four dozen clan members followed him, some in human form, others hovering half-shifted, their eyes bright and alert.
They moved like a unit without looking like one, spacing themselves instinctively around the perimeter of the gathering.
Caleb met my gaze and inclined his head. “We’ll escort you to the Hollows.”
I stared at him. “You’re coming.”
“We are,” he said simply. “You’re walking into uncertain ground. That makes you our concern.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again, my thoughts scrambling to catch up. “I didn’t ask—”
“You didn’t need to,” he replied.
Keegan exhaled slowly beside me, something like relief flickering across his face before he masked it. The vampires, for their part, watched the shifters with wary curiosity, ancient instincts stirring but not flaring. Lady Limora stepped forward, her expression composed.
“Then it seems we are aligned,” she said smoothly.
Caleb gave her a polite nod. “For now. Just keep your fangs to yourselves.”
“You’re not my type, dear. Far too young and exuberant.”
“Can’t say he’s not mine,” a vampire whispered and giggled from behind, and I clenched my teeth.
And surprisingly, Caleb smiled.
Twobble leaned forward on the bramblemule, peering at the shifters.
“So just to be clear,” he said, “we’ve got vampires, shifters, witches, a fox, a wolf, a seer, and a goblin riding foliage into the Hollows.”
“Yes,” Nova said calmly.
Twobble sighed. “I should’ve brought a banner.”
I pressed my fingers to my temple, laughing softly despite myself. “I’m seriously questioning every life decision that led me here.”
Keegan’s hand brushed mine. “Starting with which one?”
“Returning to Stonewick,” I said without hesitation.
He smiled. “And yet.”
“And yet,” I echoed, glancing around at the assembled group, at the unlikely coalition forming before my eyes. “Here we are.”
The bramblemule snorted, as if in agreement, and began to move without prompting, vines creaking softly as it took the lead.
The others fell into step around it, the group reshaping itself naturally, vampires drifting to the center, shifters taking the outer edges, Bella darting ahead and back like a scout.
I took one last look at the Academy, at the stone and light and history watching me go.
“I’ll be back,” I promised it silently, and at that moment, my parents arrived.
“Oh, no. You’re staying here to help with watching the Academy and…”
My dad scowled. “The Academy can take care of itself. We’re not letting our only child wander off to meet thousands of hungry orcs without us.”
“Fine.” I squared my shoulders and stepped forward, letting the pull of the path guide me.
Toward the Hollows, toward thousands of displaced orcs, toward answers I wasn’t sure I wanted, but knew I needed.
And with every step, as Twobble argued with Stella about seating arrangements and the bramblemule flicked its thorny tail in irritation, I felt the familiar mix of terror and resolve settle deep in my bones.
This wasn’t the life I’d planned, but it was the one I was choosing.
And I couldn’t think of a better way to be.