CHAPTER 56: CHAPTER FIFTY SIX

The air shifted as the sun slipped beneath the horizon. Orange and crimson bled across the sky like open wounds. Clouds drifted slow and thick above the trees, swallowing the last of the light. The warmth of day faded from the ground beneath my boots. I stood near the boundary of the Vale, my fingers wrapped tightly around the wolfstone pendant I had just barely managed to enchant.

It pulsed faintly against my palm, the moonlight beginning to catch on its rough surface. I could still feel the remnants of its wild energy—untamed, unpredictable, and deeply tied to my own heart. That was the problem. It didn’t obey unless I was still inside.

And lately, I hadn’t been still at all.

My thoughts never stopped moving. My heart never stopped racing. Even now, as silence settled over the land, something in me kept shifting, like I was waiting for something to happen. Or maybe dreading it.

Behind me, the trees whispered. Leaves shivered as if in warning. The wind carried a different kind of chill. Not one from weather—but from presence. From something ancient, watching.

Orrin appeared silently at my side. He always moved like smoke—quiet but thick with purpose. "You feel it too," he said.

I nodded. "It’s watching again."

He looked toward the distant edge of the Vale where the shadows thickened like old blood. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp. "It waits for nightfall. It always has."

I swallowed hard. "Why?"

"Because night is when we doubt," he said simply. "And that’s what it feeds on."

He stepped forward and knelt, touching the ground with his fingertips like he was reading a language written in dirt. "This place holds its own rules. The red-eyed beast does not belong to flesh or bone. It’s made of broken will. Failed trials. Lost souls. It comes when you falter. It stalks when you hesitate."

"I haven’t hesitated." My voice was tight.

Orrin looked up at me, his ageless eyes steady. "You’ve feared. That’s enough."

I didn’t deny it. I couldn’t. The truth was a knot in my chest. I feared I wasn’t ready. I feared what failure would cost. Not just me, but the ones I loved.

Orrin stood and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Tonight, you must not hide it. You must face it."

"What if I’m not ready?" I asked, voice barely a whisper.

He shook his head. "Then it will come anyway."

---

I returned to my small camp. The fire was low, flickering shadows that danced along the trees. My pendant hung from a thin cord around my neck. It was heavier than it looked. Heavier than it had ever been.

As darkness deepened, the forest hushed. Even the insects stilled. The wind died down, but the silence left in its place was louder. I could hear my own breath. The beat of my heart. The slow, dragging moments of time stretching long and thin.

I sat with my knees pulled to my chest. Erya’s face flickered in my thoughts—her soft cheeks, her tiny hands. I missed her more in moments like this, when fear curled around me like smoke. Darius too. His voice would’ve steadied me. His presence would’ve anchored me.

But this was my path. Mine alone.

I couldn’t call for help. I couldn’t ask for rescue. That wasn’t the lesson of the Vale.

The wind carried something sharp then—a scent that made the hairs on my neck rise. Burnt wood. Rusted iron. Something old and wrong.

The beast.

It didn’t roar. It didn’t growl. But I knew it was near. I stood slowly, fingers brushing the pendant.

Red eyes blinked from the treeline.

They didn’t move.

They didn’t need to.

I felt their weight like chains around my ankles. My legs wanted to lock. My breath turned shallow. The pendant pulsed.

"Luciana," I whispered to myself. "Don’t run."

Because that was what it wanted.

---

The creature stepped into view—slow, smooth, all shadow and smoke. Its fur was thick with black mist, and its shape was always shifting—sometimes wolf, sometimes something else. Sometimes something I didn’t have a name for.

Its eyes glowed brighter than fire. They weren’t just red. They were rage.

It sniffed the air, nose twitching, then tilted its head as if mocking me. It knew me. Knew my scent. Knew my fear.

I gritted my teeth. "You don’t scare me."

A lie.

It took one step closer.

My heart pounded against my ribs. I felt it in my ears, in my throat.

Another step.

I reached for the pendant and closed my hand around it. Moon energy buzzed against my skin. It felt like a living thing, wild and hot. It trembled with me.

I thought of Orrin’s words. It feeds on fear and doubt.

I thought of Aira running. Of Darius alone. Of Erya, waiting. I thought of the promises I’d made, the ones I hadn’t spoken aloud but felt like vows anyway.

They could not be what broke me.

"Do it," I said. "Come closer."

The beast growled. The sound was low, ancient, and wrong. It echoed deep inside me.

And then it charged.

---

I threw my arms wide.

Not to fight.

To embrace.

The moment it lunged, I didn’t flinch.

The fear rose—yes. The doubt screamed. But I let them. I didn’t push them down. I didn’t bury them. I let them exist. Because I wasn’t without fear. I wasn’t without doubt.

But I was still here.

Still standing.

And I was stronger because of them.

The pendant lit up. A silver-white glow exploded from my chest, blasting outward in a wide circle.

The beast hit it like a wall. It recoiled, howling in fury, shadows tearing off its form like shreds of cloth. Its scream wasn’t from pain. It was from recognition. I had denied it its meal.

It stumbled back. Its red eyes dimmed.

And then it vanished.

The silence afterward was loud.

I dropped to my knees, chest heaving.

The fire in the camp roared higher all on its own, like it had seen and approved. Like it knew something had changed.

---

Orrin arrived soon after. His presence always came before his voice.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t have to.

"You let it come," he said.

"Yes."

"You let it see you."

"Yes."

"And you’re still here."

I looked up. "Yes."

He nodded once, approving. "The edge of nightfall is not about fighting the dark. It’s about walking through it without losing your light."

I looked at the pendant. It was warm now, but steady. No longer wild. It didn’t pulse with panic. It pulsed with promise.

"I think I’m ready for what comes next," I said.

Orrin’s smile was faint, but real. "Then the next Way will meet you at sunrise."

---

That night, I did not sleep.

But for the first time since entering the Vale, I wasn’t afraid of the dark.

I had seen what hunted me.

And I had not run.

I had chosen to stand in its gaze and let it see all of me.

That was power.

Not perfection.

Not the absence of fear.

But the ability to keep moving in spite of it.

I sat by the fire until dawn painted the sky in soft blue streaks. The shadows pulled back like curtains, and the first bird dared to sing.

A new Way would open soon.

And I would meet it.

Not because I was fearless.

But because I had faced my fear and kept going.

And I would keep going.

Because the Vale was not done testing me.

But neither was I done rising.

Not yet.

Not ever.