Chapter 3 — Shadows of Leadership

Leon

The night air carried the lingering scent of woodsmoke and damp earth, remnants of the festival now winding down. I stood at the forest's edge where shadows stretched long, their quiet movements mirrored by the restlessness in my chest. The voices and music of the village faded behind me, replaced by the whispers of leaves brushing against one another, as though the forest itself was speaking in a tongue only it understood. The moon hung low, fractured slivers of light piercing the canopy and glinting off the jagged scars on my forearms. My fingers traced them absently, a grounding ritual to keep the weight of the night at bay.

They’d seen her now. Maeve’s daughter.

Celeste had disrupted the rhythm of the village like an unfamiliar blade, cutting through the well-worn traditions with her sharp, city-bred presence. She didn’t belong—at least not yet. The villagers’ unease clung to the air even after she’d stepped away from the stone circle. Now, the elders would sharpen that unease, twisting it into accusations and warnings. They would cast her as an outsider, a danger, long before they made any effort to understand her or why she’d come. I could already hear their voices, their words heavy with judgment and distrust, waiting like knives to be thrown at me.

The Lunar Blade at my side was a comfort, the worn leather of the hilt warming beneath my grip. As I gazed into the depths of the forest, its presence pressed against the village—a primal, watchful predator. Tonight, the forest felt different. Its ancient energy was more alive, humming beneath the wind and brushing against my senses like static. My fingers tightened on the blade’s hilt, its runes faintly pulsing in response, as though it too could feel the forest’s restlessness. Or perhaps it was her.

The crunch of deliberate footsteps broke the silence behind me. I didn’t need to turn to know it was Tomas. His gait was always heavier than necessary, his presence as blunt as his words.

“She shouldn’t be here, Leon,” he said, his voice low but sharp, cutting through the stillness.

I exhaled slowly, keeping my back to him. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

“You don’t have to.” He stepped closer, his tone thick with frustration. “The council’s already saying it loud enough for all of us.”

I turned to face him, my amber eyes locking onto his in the dim light. Tomas loomed in the shadows, his broad shoulders and tightly crossed arms making him appear immovable. His wolf simmered just beneath his skin, sharpening the lines of his features. His scowl was both habitual and genuine.

“How many times are we going to have this conversation?” I asked, keeping my voice measured.

“Until you start listening,” he shot back. “She’s dangerous. You saw the way her pendant reacted. That thing is a beacon, Leon. Kieran will see it too—if he hasn’t already. And what then? You think he’ll just sit back and wait?”

At the mention of Kieran, a cold weight settled in my chest. Tomas wasn’t wrong about the threat, but he wasn’t entirely right either.

“The pendant reacted to the stone circle,” I said, my voice steady. “You know the circle pulls at anyone tied to the forest’s magic.”

“And what tie does she have?” Tomas growled, stepping closer. “Her mother ran—fled. She doesn’t know our ways, doesn’t understand what we’ve bled to protect. She doesn’t belong here, Leon. And you know it.”

The forest seemed to grow quieter, as if listening. I glanced toward its darkened depths before meeting Tomas’s gaze again, his frustration mirrored in the lines of his clenched jaw. Despite his anger, I caught something else beneath it. Fear.

“She stays,” I said firmly, each word deliberate.

Tomas’s scowl deepened. “You’re risking all of us for her?”

“She stays,” I repeated, stepping closer until our faces were inches apart. “Sasha will watch her. The council can grumble and whisper all they want, but I decide what’s a risk to the pack. Not them. And not you.”

For a moment, neither of us moved. Tomas’s sharp eyes searched mine, looking for cracks in my resolve. When he finally stepped back, his expression remained dark, but begrudging resignation flickered in his eyes.

“Your call, Alpha,” he said, spitting the title like it burned on his tongue.

I watched him retreat into the shadows, listening to his boots crunch against the path until the sound faded. My shoulders remained tense long after he was gone. The word “Alpha” lingered in the air, heavier than the blade at my side. It was a title no one else had wanted when it mattered. And now it was mine, whether I wanted it or not.

The faint glow of the village square lit the path ahead, the longhouse looming at its center like a sentinel. The elders would be there, waiting for me with their sharp gazes and sharper words. They would tie Celeste to Maeve’s flight, to the pendant’s pull, to every shadow stretching toward us from the forest’s depths. My grip on the Lunar Blade tightened as I stepped forward.

The heavy door of the longhouse creaked as I pushed it open, the low murmur of voices inside falling silent. The elders sat in a semicircle around the central fire, their faces lined with age, authority, and years of judgment. Shadows danced across their features as the flames crackled in the hearth. Marek, the eldest among them, leaned forward slightly, his expression carefully neutral, though disapproval was etched into the corners of his mouth.

“Leon,” Marek began, his deep voice steady, “you’ve kept us waiting.”

“I’ve been busy,” I replied, stepping into the room and letting the door close behind me.

“Too busy to explain why an outsider carries something that belongs to the village?” Ilona’s voice cut through the air, sharp and cold. Her silver hair gleamed in the firelight as her piercing gaze fixed on me.

“She’s not a threat,” I said evenly, holding their stares.

“She’s Maeve’s daughter,” Marek said, his tone heavy with meaning.

“And Maeve hasn’t been here in over two decades,” I countered, my voice hardening.

Ilona leaned forward, her thin hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Her pendant reacted to the stone circle. That kind of magic doesn’t stir without intent—or danger.”

I met her gaze unflinchingly, though the air in the room seemed to press heavier against my skin. “I know what the pendant means. And I know the risks it brings. But if you think driving her out will solve anything, then you’ve already forgotten why Kieran exists in the first place.”

Silence fell over the room, broken only by the crackle of the fire. The reminder of Kieran’s betrayal lingered, unspoken but palpable. Marek’s jaw tightened as he exchanged glances with the others.

“She stays under Sasha’s watch,” I said, my voice firm and final. “Until we know more. And until then, this discussion is over.”

The elders’ discontent hung in the air, thick and unspoken. They would push back in time—of that I had no doubt. But tonight, the matter was settled.

I turned and left the longhouse without another word, the tension trailing behind me like a shadow. The cold night air hit my skin as I stepped outside, but it did little to ease the weight pressing on my chest. The forest loomed closer as I made my way back toward the pack’s den, its shadows stretching long across the path like specters of what was yet to come.

Above, the moon hung high, pale and watchful, its light catching on the etched runes of the Lunar Blade at my side. My fingers brushed over the hilt, the faint warmth of the runes grounding me. They were a reminder of what I carried—the weight of the past, the burden of leadership, and the choices that would shape what came next.

The forest didn’t forget. And tonight, neither could I.