Chapter 2 — <strong>Shadows of the Settlement</strong>

Lyric

The forest’s whispers still clung to Lyric’s mind as he trudged through thinning trees. Each step pulled him farther from the only place that ever felt like home. The shift came fast—as it always did. The mossy hush of the forest gave way to dry stone, the air losing its damp weight. Scents changed, too: from green and wild to dust, iron, and old sweat. Even the wind felt wrong here—raw and scraping, like it wanted to peel the forest off his skin.

Up ahead, the pack’s settlement crouched on a barren plateau, a collection of squat stone and timber buildings built more to endure than to invite. The structures seemed pressed into the rock rather than raised, heavy and hard-edged, stripped of ornament or warmth. A place shaped by need, not care.

To Lyric, it always felt less like shelter and more like punishment.

As he crossed into the outer paths, the wind howled between buildings like a warning. Figures moved through the narrow lanes—cloaked, armed, focused. Their eyes, when they rose, were sharp and dismissive. A hunter paused mid-sharpening, blade flashing in the light, giving Lyric a look like one would a stone in the boot. Nearby, two young warriors traded blows in the dirt, the slap of fists and barked grunts keeping time with the rhythm of their training.

Lyric didn’t meet their eyes. He knew what they saw: a dreamer, soft where they were sharp. Wild where they were tamed.

“Waste of space,” someone muttered as he passed.

He said nothing, jaw tightening.

Then came the sound he dreaded most.

“Lyric!”

The voice cracked like a branch snapping underfoot. He froze.

Kael.

The alpha’s silhouette stood near the training grounds, tall and immovable, cut against the grey sky like a statue that could still speak. His voice didn’t need to rise. It carried through stone and wind just fine.

“Get over here.”

Lyric’s feet moved before he could think. He threaded through the yard, past sparring warriors and splintered practice staves. The air here was heavier—stinking of sweat, dirt, and something metallic beneath. Blood, maybe. Or fear.

Kael stood with arms folded, his stare colder than the highland wind. Silence opened between them like a trap.

“Explain yourself,” he said at last.

Lyric swallowed. “I was in the forest,” he said. “There’s something wrong—”

“The forest is not our concern,” Kael snapped, voice flint on flint. “How many times must we circle this?”

“It should be,” Lyric insisted. “The trees are dying. I felt it. If the forest falls—”

“Enough.” Kael’s voice cracked out, a lash of sound. “We don’t have the luxury to chase rot and whispers. Not when the scouts report movement near the eastern ridge. Not when we don’t have enough food to last the winter.”

A few heads turned. Someone chuckled behind him—low, sharp. Lyric kept his back straight, but the skin between his shoulder blades prickled.

“I’m not chasing anything,” he said, quieter now. “I’m trying to help. In the only way I know how.”

Kael stepped forward. The air between them seemed to freeze.

“What helps,” he said, his voice low, “is strength. Focus. Brotherhood. You talk to trees while the rest of us train to bleed for this pack.”

The words landed like stones. Lyric stayed still.

“You’re my son,” Kael added, quieter. “And still you walk like a stranger.”

Then he turned and walked away. No one said anything. No one had to. Their silence cut sharper than words.

Lyric let out a slow breath, white mist curling in the air. His palms ached where his nails had dug in. He turned from the yard and made for the edge of the settlement, past the cold stares and shuttered doors.

He climbed the ridge on unsteady legs. The wind there was thinner, but it had room to breathe.

At the top, he dropped to his knees. The rocks were jagged, biting through the fabric of his trousers. Below, the forest stretched out in dense, dark folds. Not welcoming, not safe—but real. Alive, even now.

He unclasped the pendant from his neck. The smooth wooden leaf rested in his palm, warm from his skin. His mother had carved it. Her voice surfaced again, softer than the wind:

“Do you feel it, Lyric? The forest’s heartbeat?”

He closed his fingers around it. Kael’s words still rang in his head, louder. He’d heard them for years.

What if Kael was right?

He sat in silence. Let the thought sink. Let the doubt curl through his chest like smoke.

But then—he remembered the brittle bark beneath his hand. The wildflowers curling in on themselves. The hum of something too old to die without screaming.

“I won’t forget,” he said. Not loudly. Not like an oath. Just a truth.

The wind shifted. A scent came with it—moss and something green, fighting to stay alive.

He opened his eyes.

Far below, near the treeline, something flickered—white against green. Not wind. Not a bird. Just a flash.

He stood.

His legs still ached, but something steadier had taken root inside him. Not peace. Not certainty.

Just direction.

Lyric looked once toward the village. The drills had resumed. Shouts echoed. Nobody noticed he was gone.

He turned back to the trees.

And didn’t look back.