The night was rich with the aroma of moist soil and old decay—a perfume carried by the wind through a forest that seemed to recall every tragedy, every war waged, and every secret spoken under moonlight sky. I went carefully down a tiny, overgrown trail, each foot echoing like a pulse in the quiet.
The Crescent Mark on my forearm pulsed faintly, as if it were sensitive to the memories that lay concealed in the darkness. Tonight, I sought answers buried deep inside these woods—a place where the past whispered in quiet tones, and where every shadow bore the weight of lost truths.
I had returned to these ruins not by choice, but by necessity. The betrayal of my pack, the shattering of old alliances, and the rising threat of enemies both seen and unseen had driven me to search for guidance in the whispers of history.
