Chapter 2 — Echoes of Isolation

Alexander Krom

The walk back into Valgrest was laden with more than the weight of silence; it bore the echoes of the whispers Alexander had heard in the clearing, faint and fragmented, threading through his thoughts like a half-remembered melody. The icy air bit at his exposed skin, but he hardly felt it, his mind consumed with questions he couldn’t answer. The taiga had always been dangerous, but this—this was different. Wrong.

The creaking gates of Valgrest swung open reluctantly as the trio returned, the sound punctuating the uneasy stillness of the settlement. The guards on duty exchanged furtive glances, their eyes flicking toward Alexander before quickly looking away, as though his presence made them uncomfortable. He was used to it—the pity, the suspicion—but tonight it gnawed at him, sharper than the cold. The forest had given him no answers, and now he approached a town hungry for them.

Clusters of townsfolk lingered in the square despite the late hour, their whispered conversations quieting as he passed. They stood in the flickering light of the firepit, its embers subdued, struggling against the night’s chill. Even in their silence, their stares spoke volumes: judgment, disappointment, fear. Alexander’s shoulders tightened under the weight of their unspoken accusations.

Head Elder Viktor stood near the fire, his fur-lined cloak draped over his broad shoulders. The flames cast his silhouette into stark relief, emphasizing his imposing presence. His sharp, pale eyes found Alexander immediately, narrowing as Boris and Katya stepped forward to report. Alexander didn’t wait.

“The trail vanished,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Something took Misha. We followed his tracks, but they disappeared in the clearing. And there were—” He hesitated, the memory of the whispers twisting in his mind. “There were things… sounds I can’t explain. The taiga isn’t natural tonight.”

Viktor raised a thick brow, his expression inscrutable. “And yet,” he said, his tone cool, “you returned empty-handed.”

The murmurs of the townsfolk grew louder, spreading like wind through dry leaves. Alexander felt their judgment like a needle slipping beneath his skin—sharp, persistent, impossible to ignore.

“I did everything I could,” Alexander said, his voice tightening. “The taiga… it’s not just dangerous. There’s something out there. Something tied to the Ashen Moon.”

Viktor’s mouth curved into a faint, condescending smile. “Danger is nothing new to us, Alexander. The taiga has always been wild and unyielding. What our people need now is strength—not wild theories.” He stepped closer, his tone softening into something almost paternal, though his eyes betrayed none of the warmth his words implied. “Fear is a sickness, one that spreads quickly if unchecked. You would do well not to feed it.”

Alexander’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t fear. It’s the truth. You’ve seen what the Ashen Moon does to the taiga—how it twists things. You know this is more than that.”

Viktor’s gaze hardened, his voice losing its veneer of calm. “What I know is that my people are frightened. And what they need from you is action, not excuses.”

The words struck like a blow, and for a moment, Alexander’s composure wavered. Around him, the murmurs rose again, an undercurrent of doubt and unease. He turned away before Viktor or anyone else could see the frustration etched into his features. His fists tightened as he strode toward the outskirts of town, each step punctuated by the biting cold.

The path to his cabin was lined with shadows, the soft glow of Valgrest’s fires fading behind him. The runes carved into the wooden totems marking the town’s boundaries hummed faintly under the Ashen Moon’s light, their silvery glow casting twisted shapes across the snow. Beyond them, the forest loomed—a dark, watching presence that seemed to lean closer with every step he took.

His cabin stood alone at the edge of the woods, a modest structure of weathered timber dusted with frost. It had always been a refuge of sorts, but tonight it felt smaller, more isolated. The shadows seemed thicker here, the cold more persistent, as though the taiga itself sought to remind him of its presence.

Inside, the air was stale but warmer than outside. He lit a lantern, its flame casting a soft, unsteady glow over the sparse interior. A single bed sat in one corner, a rough-hewn table cluttered with maps and journals in another. The hearth held a fire barely clinging to life, its embers pulsing faintly like a heartbeat. Alexander sat heavily in the chair by the table, his head falling into his hands.

The events of the night played over and over in his mind—the scattered tracks, the mournful cry, the whispers that seemed to linger even now. He had failed. Failed Misha, failed the town. No matter how hard he tried, it was never enough.

His eyes drifted to the edge of the table, where a small, faded leather pouch lay. He reached for it, his movements slow and deliberate, as though touching it might awaken some long-buried memory. Inside, tarnished silver coins clinked softly against a folded scrap of parchment. He unfolded it carefully, his breath catching as he traced the familiar handwriting.

*"Even in the darkest nights, the moon still watches over us."*

Maria’s words. A lifetime ago, it seemed, though the ache of her memory felt fresh, raw. She had written them when he was at his lowest, when exile loomed over him like a stormcloud. For a time, she had been his guiding light, proof that he still mattered. But then… her betrayal. The thought of it was like a blade twisting in his chest.

He closed his eyes, the parchment trembling in his hands. Why did she still haunt him? Why, despite everything, did he feel her absence so acutely? It was weakness, he told himself. A weakness he couldn’t afford.

A sharp knock at the door broke the silence, startling him. He frowned, instinctively reaching for the hunting knife at his belt. Visitors were rare, especially at this hour.

When he opened the door, a young boy stood there, shivering against the cold. Alexander recognized him—Ivan, one of the blacksmith’s apprentices. The boy’s wide eyes and trembling hands betrayed his fear.

“Alexander…” Ivan’s voice was barely audible. “Elder Viktor sent me. He says you’re needed at the Elders’ Hall. Now.”

Alexander’s grip on the doorframe tightened. “What’s happened?”

“I-I don’t know,” Ivan stammered. “But they’re meeting. They want you there.”

Alexander nodded, grabbing his coat and stepping into the night. The cold bit deeper now, but he ignored it, his mind racing. The summons felt wrong. Viktor wasn’t the type to include him in council matters unless it served some purpose. He had a sinking feeling this would not end well.

The Elders’ Hall loomed ahead, its silhouette resembling a wolf’s head against the moonlit sky. The carved walls seemed to watch him as he entered, their intricate depictions of wolves and moons shifting in the flickering torchlight. The scent of woodsmoke and aged pine filled the air, heavy and oppressive.

The elders sat around a circular stone table at the center of the hall, their expressions grim. Viktor stood at the head, his presence dominating the room.

“Alexander,” Viktor said, his tone deceptively calm. “Thank you for coming.”

Alexander inclined his head but said nothing. He could feel their eyes on him, sharp and probing.

Viktor gestured to an empty chair. “Sit.”

Reluctantly, Alexander obeyed, his sharp gray eyes scanning the room.

“The events of tonight have shaken the town,” Viktor began, his voice low and deliberate. “The people are frightened. They need answers. And they need to know where the danger comes from.”

Alexander stiffened. “If you’re suggesting—”

“I am suggesting,” Viktor interrupted smoothly, “that your presence here, your… uniqueness, may be attracting the taiga’s attention. The Ashen Moon has always been a time of heightened danger. Perhaps it senses something in you.”

The words cut deeper than Alexander expected, their weight pressing down on him like a physical force. He had always felt like an outsider, but to hear it spoken so plainly, so cruelly…

“You’re wrong,” he said quietly, his voice steady despite the storm within him. “I’ve done nothing but try to protect this town. If anyone understands the taiga, it’s me.”

Viktor’s gaze was cold, calculating. “Perhaps. But the people’s trust is fragile. Prove yourself, Alexander, or risk losing what little place you have here.”

Alexander rose abruptly, his jaw tight. Without a word, he strode out into the night, the cold air hitting him like a slap. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled, low and mournful. He closed his eyes, letting the sound wash over him.

He didn’t belong here. He never had. But he would find Misha. He would uncover the truth of the Ashen Moon and the taiga, no matter the cost.