Chapter 3 — The Return of the Exile

Maria Graves

The Howling Gate loomed ahead, its iron-bound timbers etched with protective runes that pulsed faintly under the cold, otherworldly glow of the Ashen Moon. Maria Graves approached with slow, deliberate steps, her boots crunching over the frost-laden ground. The air was sharp and biting, but she barely noticed it, her amber eyes fixed on the weathered wood of the gate. Her heart, however, beat harder than she would have liked to admit. Every step toward Valgrest deepened the weight of her exile, the memory of her disgrace tightening around her like a noose. But she straightened her shoulders and clenched her fists, forcing the doubt into the shadows where it belonged.

Two guards stationed at the gate stiffened at her approach, their postures shifting from bored vigilance to taut alertness. Both were werewolves, their keen senses immediately recognizing her scent before her face. One, a grizzled man with scars marking his jawline, stepped forward, his hand hovering near the hilt of his sword. His sharp eyes widened briefly in recognition before narrowing suspiciously.

“Maria Graves,” he said, his voice low and wary. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here after everything you caused.”

Maria stopped a few paces from the gate, her figure straight and imposing despite the tension crackling in the icy air. Her braid rested over one shoulder, her dark auburn hair catching the faint light. She met the guard’s gaze evenly, her tone clipped and commanding.

“I didn’t come here for pleasantries, Viktorov. Lower the damn gate. Valgrest doesn’t have the luxury of turning me away.”

The younger of the two guards, a wiry man with nervous energy, shifted uncomfortably. “The elders won’t like this,” he muttered, glancing at his companion for reassurance.

“The elders can take it up with me directly,” Maria snapped, her voice cutting through the stillness. “Now open the gate. I’ve come with answers about the missing children—and a warning.”

Viktorov hesitated, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied her. The air between them was taut, heavy with unspoken history. Maria’s jaw tightened under his scrutiny, but she didn’t flinch. She knew what the people of Valgrest thought of her—traitor, usurper, exile—but she also knew the stakes were far greater than their judgment. Finally, with a grunt of disdain, Viktorov turned to his partner.

“Lower it. But keep your guard up. If she so much as twitches wrong, she’ll wish the taiga had taken her instead.”

The iron chains groaned as the gate began to lower, its massive weight trembling against the cold wind. Maria didn’t wait for it to fully open. She ducked beneath the descending timbers and stepped into Valgrest.

The town felt smaller than she remembered, its narrow streets winding through the clustered timber buildings like veins through a dying heart. The faces that turned toward her as she passed were pale and drawn, their expressions a mix of shock, fear, and resentment. Whispers followed her like a shadow, curling and twisting through the frigid night.

“She’s back...”

“After everything she did?”

“Why now?”

Maria ignored them, but the murmurs clawed at her resolve. Her amber eyes flicked to the faint glow of protective runes carved into the cobblestones, their light dimmer than she remembered. The Ashen Moon hung heavy in the sky, casting its eerie glow over the town. Valgrest felt as though it were holding its breath, teetering on the edge of something dark and inevitable.

Her focus locked on the Elders’ Hall rising above the town square. The towering structure, with its wolf-like silhouette and flickering torchlight, seemed more foreboding than she remembered. The last time she had stood before its carved doors, it had been as an alpha—a leader, a protector. Now, she returned as an exile, her authority stripped, her name tarnished.

The wooden doors creaked open before she could knock, revealing the imposing figure of Head Elder Viktor Ivanov. His pale eyes, cold as the Siberian winter, locked onto her with a gaze that could have frozen the fires of the taiga itself.

“Maria Graves,” he said, his voice smooth but laden with disdain. “To what do we owe this… unexpected visit?”

She stepped inside, refusing to let her unease show. The interior of the hall was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting long shadows that danced over the carved wolves and moons adorning the walls. The circular stone table at the center of the room seemed to loom larger than before, its surface scarred from centuries of deliberation and judgment.

“I’m here because Valgrest is in danger,” Maria said, her voice firm. “You’ve lost children to the forest. The Ashen Moon hangs heavier than ever. You and I both know this isn’t normal. The taiga is stirring.”

Viktor’s lip curled faintly, a ghost of a sneer. “And you think you have the answers? After years of exile, you return now, claiming to care for the town you nearly destroyed?”

Maria bristled but held her ground. “I didn’t come to argue about the past. I came because I know what’s out there. The taiga isn’t just stirring—it’s waking up. And if you don’t act, it will devour us all.”

“And you expect us to believe you?” Viktor’s tone was mocking, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—wariness, perhaps, or doubt.

“I don’t care if you believe me,” Maria shot back. “The truth doesn’t need your approval. I’ve seen the signs—marks in the forest, symbols carved into the trees, whispers that don’t belong to anything living. The Ashen Moon is pulling at the balance between man and wolf, and Valgrest is caught in the center of it. The obelisk isn’t just a marker—it holds the past, and maybe the future, too. Whatever is taking the children, it’s tied to that.”

The mention of the obelisk drew a ripple of unease through the elders seated around the table. Viktor’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. “You tread dangerously close to blasphemy, Maria. The obelisk is sacred. Whatever danger we face, it is not the time for wild accusations and fractured loyalties. The people need unity, not your disruption.”

“Unity?” Maria’s voice rose, her frustration breaking through her calm exterior. “You think ignoring the truth will unite them? Children are vanishing, Viktor! The town is already falling apart under your so-called leadership. Fear is spreading because you refuse to face what’s right in front of you.”

Viktor’s fist slammed against the table, the sound reverberating through the hall. “Enough!” he barked, his voice echoing off the walls. “You speak as though you still have the right. But you are nothing here, Maria. You forfeited your place when you betrayed this town. Your word holds no weight.”

Maria’s jaw tightened, but she refused to back down. “I didn’t come here for my place. I came here for the people—for the children who are still missing and for the ones who will be if you don’t listen. You can hate me all you want, Viktor, but you can’t ignore the truth forever. The longer you wait, the more lives you’ll lose.”

For a moment, the hall was silent, the tension thick enough to choke. Viktor’s pale eyes bore into hers, unyielding and cold. Finally, he straightened, his expression settling into a mask of calculated control.

“Very well,” he said, his tone clipped. “If you truly believe you can help, then I will allow you to stay. But know this—you will be watched. One step out of line, one misstep that endangers this town, and you will regret ever setting foot back in Valgrest.”

“I’m not here to play games, Viktor,” Maria said, her voice steady. “I’m here to protect the people you claim to lead. So watch me all you want. But don’t get in my way.”

Viktor’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned sharply, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. “Then go. Do what you must. But don’t come crying to me when you fail.”

Maria stepped out into the cold night, the Elders’ Hall looming behind her like a sentinel of judgment. The whispers of the townsfolk had grown louder, their curiosity and suspicion feeding on the tension in the air.

Ignoring them, she made her way toward the edge of town, her breath forming pale clouds in the moonlight.

There was only one person in Valgrest who might truly understand the danger they faced. Alexander Krom.

Their history was fraught, tangled with betrayal and regret. But if there was anyone who knew the taiga as well as she did—who could navigate the forest’s shifting paths and decipher its whispers—it was him.

The memory of his silver-gray eyes, sharp and searching, flickered in her mind like a distant flame. With each step toward his cabin, the weight of the past grew heavier, threatening to pull her back into the shadows she was trying to escape.

For better or worse, she needed him. And if she was right, Valgrest needed them both.