Chapter 3 — The Alpha's Burden

Rylen

The Moonlit Glade was silent now, its ethereal glow fading as the first rays of dawn pierced the forest canopy. Rylen Blackwood stood motionless at its edge, his stormy gray eyes fixed on the path Ava had taken. Her scent lingered faintly in the cool air—sorrow mixed with the earthy tang of moss and fallen leaves. It clung to him, a cruel reminder of her shattered sobs and the devastation he had caused. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, the effort to stay rooted in place a war against every instinct screaming at him to follow her, to undo what he had done.

But he couldn’t.

This was the only way.

The prophecy loomed in his mind, its cryptic warning an ever-present weight. Its words haunted him, twisting his resolve into something cold and unyielding. He had no choice but to push her away. The alternative—the destruction that could follow if he didn’t—was too great a risk. Glenmoor was his responsibility. Protecting the pack, his family, was the role he had been born into. His father’s voice echoed faintly in his memory: *Your heart is not your own, Rylen. It belongs to the pack.*

The thought did little to ease the ache in his chest. Ava’s tear-streaked face burned in his mind, her green eyes wide with betrayal. He exhaled sharply, his breath misting in the cool air, and turned his back on the glade.

The forest seemed to close in around him as he walked, its towering trees casting long, skeletal shadows across the leaf-strewn ground. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the crunch of brittle leaves beneath his boots. The Whispering Forest felt alive, almost sentient, and tonight it seemed to mourn with him. The rustling of branches overhead carried faint whispers, as if mocking his torment or offering some cryptic counsel he couldn’t understand.

Rylen emerged from the forest as the first light of day broke over Glenmoor. The small town lay shrouded in mist, its cobblestone streets quiet save for the distant caw of a raven. The Alpha’s Estate rose in the distance, its looming silhouette a bastion of strength and tradition. He quickened his pace, the sight of the estate both a comfort and a burden.

Inside, the air was heavy with the smell of firewood and aged leather. Rylen strode through the grand hall, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. Tapestries depicting the pack’s storied history lined the walls—scenes of triumph, loss, and unity. He paused briefly at the base of the wide staircase, his hand brushing the cold wood of the banister. A light spilled into the corridor from an open door upstairs, and moments later, Sophia’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Rylen.”

He stiffened, his shoulders tensing as his sister descended the stairs, her pale blue eyes sharp with concern. Her golden hair was pulled into a loose braid, but her usual lightness was absent, replaced by a simmering frustration that matched her brisk movements.

“What happened?” she demanded, stepping in front of him and crossing her arms.

“Sophia, not now,” he muttered, brushing past her.

She grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into his jacket sleeve. “Not now? Do you think I didn’t hear her crying? Do you think the rest of the pack didn’t feel it?” Her voice was low but laced with steel. “What did you do, Rylen?”

His jaw tightened, and he pulled his arm free. “I did what I had to do.”

“Don’t give me that,” she snapped, stepping into his path again. “You’ve been hiding behind that excuse for months. But her? Ava isn’t just anyone, and we both know it. You can’t pretend you don’t feel it, don’t feel her.”

His stormy gray eyes met hers, their intensity cutting through the dim light. “You think I don’t feel it?” he said, his voice rising, raw with emotion. “Every moment I feel her. Every single moment. And that’s why I had to do this.”

Sophia faltered, her defiance softening as she searched his face. “Rylen…”

“It’s for her own good,” he said quietly. The weight of his guilt thickened his voice. “And for the pack. If I let myself give in, if I…” He broke off, running a hand through his disheveled black hair. “The prophecy doesn’t end well for anyone if we’re together. I’m trying to protect her.”

Sophia’s expression shifted, pain and frustration warring in her gaze. “Maybe it’s not your choice to make.”

Rylen couldn’t respond. He turned away, his head bowed as he ascended the stairs, leaving Sophia standing in the hall, her arms falling to her sides.

His private quarters were dim, the thick curtains drawn against the dawn. Lighting the lantern on his desk, he sank heavily into the chair. The flickering flame cast long shadows across the scattered books and documents, but his attention was drawn to the leather-bound journal resting at the edge. The worn cover bore the Blackwood family crest, its edges smoothed by years of handling.

He opened it, his fingers tracing the faded ink of his father’s notes. Generations of Alphas had recorded their triumphs and failures within these pages, but one entry stood out: the prophecy.

*"When the forest whispers and the wolves unite, a bond will rise, born of light and shadow. But beware the union, for it shall call forth the storm that divides and the flame that consumes."*

Rylen’s hand lingered on the page, his father’s scribbled notes in the margins catching his eye. *Can love and ruin coexist? Is the flame destruction—or rebirth?*

A knock at the door startled him. Closing the journal with a snap, Rylen called out, “Enter.”

Elijah stepped inside, his movements cautious, his dark eyes unreadable. “The council is gathering,” he said simply.

Rylen nodded, rising to his feet. He followed Elijah through the estate, his mind braced for what was to come.

The council chamber was cold, its stone walls adorned with relics of the pack’s past. The elders sat in a semi-circle, their lined faces as guarded as their words had always been. Near the back, Killian leaned casually against the wall, his sharp features betraying only the faintest trace of amusement.

Rylen took his place at the head of the room, his commanding presence filling the space. His stormy gaze swept over the council, noting the unease in their posture, the tension simmering beneath their stoic expressions.

“We have much to discuss,” Rylen began, his voice steady. “The pack is at a crossroads. Now more than ever, we must stand united.”

Killian’s lips curled into a smirk, his dark eyes glinting. “United is an interesting choice of words, Alpha, considering recent events.”

Rylen ignored the bait, his jaw tightening. “The prophecy looms over us all, but it doesn’t dictate our actions. We choose how we move forward—as a pack, as a family.”

One elder, her voice hesitant, spoke up. “And what of Ava Harper? She is… significant, is she not?”

Killian’s chuckle was low and grating, his voice cutting through the chamber like a blade. “Significant? That’s one way to put it. But the Alpha has already made his choice, hasn’t he? Pushed away the one person who could truly—”

“Enough,” Rylen snapped, his voice sharp. His stormy eyes locked onto Killian, daring him to continue.

Killian raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk deepening. “Of course, Alpha. I wouldn’t dream of questioning your judgment.”

The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with unspoken challenges. Rylen gripped the edge of the table, forcing himself to remain composed.

“The decisions I make are for the good of this pack,” he said evenly, his voice firm. “And they are not made lightly. Ava’s role is… complicated. But rest assured, I will do whatever is necessary to protect Glenmoor.”

The elders exchanged uncertain glances, their expressions unreadable. Killian remained silent, though his smirk lingered, a shadow in the dim light.

As the council dispersed, Rylen lingered, his hands trembling as he gripped the edge of the table. The whispers of the forest echoed faintly in his mind, a reminder of the path he had chosen.

And though he stood alone, his heart ached for the one person he had pushed away—the one person he couldn’t protect from himself.