Chapter 3 — <strong>Arden’s Arrival</strong>

Lyric

The Heartwood Glade was quiet. Not peaceful—just silent, like something was holding its breath.

Lyric knelt beside the spring, its surface still and glassy. He rested his hands on the moss, eyes scanning the base of the ancient oak clinging to life at the edge of the clearing. The bark had gone pale and brittle, its silver veining dim. Leaves drooped, gray-tinged, as though forgetting how to hold the light.

The ache of it pulsed under his skin. He didn’t know if it belonged to the tree or to him.

He closed his eyes and let his fingers sink into the moss. Dampness steadied him. He searched inward, reaching for the thread that had always been there—a bond between him and the forest’s breath. For a heartbeat, it answered: a flicker, faint and trembling. But when he tried to hold it, it slipped—gone before he could draw it close.

His shoulders dropped. Fourth time in four days. Each failure landed heavier.

He used to feel the forest’s magic like a second heartbeat. Now it came in flickers. Echoes. Distance.

Was the forest pulling away—or was he?

The wind shifted. The faintest whisper moved through the leaves. Not words, just suggestion. Mourning. He leaned against the oak, forehead on bark, voice barely above the hush.

“I’m trying,” he said.

Something rustled behind him.

He stiffened, turning sharply toward the underbrush. No one came here. The glade was hidden, sacred. Even the pack left it alone.

His fingers brushed the knife at his belt. Instinct. It wouldn’t help much if the threat was real.

The branches parted.

And she stepped through.

For a moment, he forgot the knife, the tree, the ache in his chest. She looked like something the forest had dreamed up and shaped from moonlight. Pale skin. Long white hair with a shimmer like silver fog. And her eyes—violet, steady, as if she already knew what he was going to ask.

She took in the glade, then him. Her expression didn’t shift. Calm. Curious. Unreadable.

Her clothes were strange—light, flowing, nothing like the thick hides and layered cloth of the pack. She didn’t belong here, and yet the glade didn’t resist her.

Lyric found his voice. “Who are you?”

She tilted her head, just a little. A faint smile touched her lips. Then she stepped forward—barefoot, silent on the moss.

“Arden,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but it carried. “And you are Lyric.”

He froze. The sound of his name from her lips landed with strange weight. “How do you know me?”

Her smile deepened, still unreadable. “The forest knows you. It speaks of you.” Her gaze drifted to the tree behind him. “It called me here.”

Something in him pulled tight. He didn’t know her. Didn’t trust her. And yet... the forest hadn’t rejected her. That meant something.

“Why?” he asked. The question felt small beside the storm in his chest.

She walked to the oak. Her fingers brushed the bark. “It’s dying.”

His voice was dry. “I know. I’ve been trying. But it’s not enough.”

She turned, met his eyes. “Not alone.”

She knelt at the tree’s roots and looked to him, waiting. Lyric hesitated. His instincts shouted caution. But the forest murmured otherwise.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Trust me,” she said. No command. No pride. Just calm.

He knelt beside her. The ground was cool beneath his knees. The bark felt familiar under his hands—rough, real. Arden closed her eyes. He did the same.

The air shifted.

At first it was subtle—a rustle, a ripple through the clearing like a breath being held. Then it deepened. A current stirred beneath the roots, rising. It moved through him—warm, insistent, alive.

Light filtered through the glade. Not sunlight. Something older.

The tree responded. Its silver veins brightened. Cracks in its bark sealed. Leaves stirred, then opened—green again. Whole.

Lyric’s breath caught. He opened his eyes.

The glade glowed. Arden was part of it—bathed in that same gold shimmer, her face calm, though her hands trembled slightly. Then the light faded. The oak stood taller. Healthier. The clearing hummed with quiet life, and the forest’s whispers returned—soft, but lighter now. As if exhaling.

Lyric stared at the tree. “How did you do that?”

Arden opened her eyes. The glow left her skin, but something steady remained.

“I didn’t,” she said. “The forest did. I just helped it find you again.”

He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The truth in her words left no space for doubt.

“Why me?” he asked.

Her gaze softened. This time, it felt real. Human. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I think we’re meant to find out. Together.”

Lyric’s pulse skipped. Her presence shook him—not like fear, but recognition. As if she saw a version of him even he didn’t fully believe in.

“You’re not from the pack,” he said.

“No,” she replied. “And neither are you.”

He looked away. “They think I’m weak.”

Arden’s hand touched his arm—barely a brush. Still, warmth bloomed from the contact.

“They’re wrong,” she said. “The forest knows your heart. And so do I.”

The words settled in him like a thread pulling tight.

For once, he didn’t argue.

She rose to her feet. “Come. The forest has more to show us.”

He glanced at the oak—restored, watching, alive. The glade had changed. He had too. Maybe.

He still didn’t know who she really was. But the forest had brought her. And that, for now, was enough. He stood and followed her, deeper into the trees. The whispers moved with them.

And something—quiet, steady—moved in him too.