Darrian's POV
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Darrian landed hard on cold stone.
Or—at least it felt like stone. But when he opened his eyes, nothing around him looked real. Everything shimmered with a faint silver hue, like moonlight trapped in glass. The sky was a swirling void, neither day nor night. The floor was smooth and glowing, endless in every direction… except for one structure.
A door.
Tall. Arched. Made of ancient wood that pulsed faintly with light, as though it were alive.
He stood slowly, feeling weightless yet whole. His heart beat, though he didn't breathe. The silence was absolute until he reached for the handle—and the door opened on its own.
Inside, it was warm.
A circular chamber, domed like a temple, with a soft fire flickering in a bowl at its center. Shelves lined the walls, holding scrolls and glowing crystals. There were no people—at first.
Then… they appeared.
Not walking. Not from a hallway.
Simply present.
Three figures.
One cloaked in white, faceless but radiant.
One cloaked in black, tall with glowing eyes.
And one—golden, neither male nor female, with a voice like wind through trees.
"You are the Alpha of Flame and Shadow," the golden one said, stepping forward.
"You have passed into the Threshold," said the white-cloaked being.
"You seek the soul that was taken from you," the black-robed figure added. "And the path is not without price."
Darrian squared his shoulders. "I will pay it."
The white figure moved to the fire bowl and waved a hand. The flames parted, revealing Heather—curled in a cocoon of light, sleeping, surrounded by darkness that whispered and clawed at the edges.
"She is not lost," the white one said.
"Not yet," added the black.
"But she does not know who she is," said the golden one. "Her soul was torn from her body before it was ready. Poison blurred the line. She drifts, unanchored."
Darrian stepped closer, heart pounding at the sight of her. "How do I reach her?"
"You must travel through three veils," the white one explained.
"In the first, she remembers only fear," the golden one said. "In the second, she remembers pain. And in the third—she must remember you."
"If she does not," said the black, "you will fade beside her."
Darrian didn't flinch. "Then I'll make her remember."
The fire flickered again, and a silver chain appeared in the golden one's hands. It glowed with the mark of his pack—the intertwined crescent moons—and pulsed faintly, as though alive.
"This is the last piece of your bond," the golden one said. "When you reach the final veil, place it around her soul. It will remind her of who you are… of what you are together."
Darrian took it, feeling the warmth of her memory within it. He clutched it tightly.
The black-robed figure stepped aside and pointed to a smaller door on the chamber's far side. "The veils await."
Darrian nodded once, already moving.
"Wait," the white figure called softly.
He turned back.
"There is one more truth."
The black and gold figures faded into light, and the white-robed being stepped close. Its voice gentled.
"You must prepare your heart. Because she may not want to return. And if she chooses to stay, you cannot force her."
Darrian's breath caught.
"She will want to," he said with quiet fire.
"We hope you are right," the being replied. "Because love can heal all things—or destroy them."
Darrian pushed open the second door.
And stepped into the first veil.
The moment Darrian crossed the threshold, the warmth of the chamber vanished.
He staggered into a world of shadow—cold, suffocating shadow. Fog curled around his feet and clung to his shoulders like damp cloth. The air reeked of blood and damp earth, the scent sharp enough to sting his nose despite the otherworldliness of this place.
And then… the world took shape.
Trees. A clearing. A cabin too small to be a home.
Darrian's eyes widened.
He knew this place.
Heather's childhood pack lands.
The veil was thick, slow-moving like mist through memory, but the details came into focus with painful clarity. The old cabin door creaked open on rusty hinges. Inside, a woman stood by the fire, her features familiar despite the soft glow. Her hair was like Heather's—dark and cascading, her eyes a gentler version of the stormy blue he loved.
Her mother.
Darrian's throat tightened.
He tried to call out—to warn her, to say anything—but his voice didn't carry. Only a whisper of breath escaped.
He moved closer, his boots making no sound on the dirt floor. He reached for her shoulder, needing her to see him, needing to do something.
But his hand passed through her like smoke.
A ghost. That's what he was here. Nothing more than a cursed observer.
Footsteps pounded outside.
The woman turned sharply just as the door burst open.
Marcus.
Younger, but not by much. His face was just as cruel, just as cold. He stormed in, dragging a small figure by the arm.
Darrian's heart shattered.
Heather.
Barely ten. Bloody. Crying. Her lip was split and one of her shoes was missing.
"Stop!" her mother cried, stepping between them. "She's just a child—"
"She disobeyed me," Marcus snarled, throwing Heather to the floor. "She'll learn."
"She's your daughter, Marcus!"
Marcus didn't respond. He didn't hesitate. He drew his claws.
Darrian lunged, roaring—"NO!"—but the sound was swallowed by the veil.
He tackled Marcus, but his body passed through like mist. Helpless. Furious. Useless.
The claws struck.
Heather screamed.
Her mother fell.
Blood spread like ink across the wooden floor.
Darrian collapsed to his knees, chest heaving with breath he didn't need, hands digging into the ground that offered no resistance. The metallic scent of death choked him.
Heather, still sobbing, crawled to her mother's body. She shook her. Whispered her name. Pleaded.
And then… she stopped. Her hands folded in her lap. Her shoulders curled inward.
A small, broken shell of a girl.
Marcus grabbed her again, yanking her up by her hair.
Darrian surged after them, fury propelling him through the trees as Marcus dragged her into the woods. Heather didn't struggle. She didn't cry anymore.
She just went limp.
A scream built inside Darrian's chest—raw, animal, agonized—but he couldn't release it.
Because now he understood.
This veil wasn't here to show him her past.
It was here to test him.
To remind him what she had survived.
To ask him—Can you carry this, Alpha?
Could he accept the depth of her fear, the scars of her soul? Could he still love her, knowing she had lived a life soaked in pain so deep it had silenced her wolf, her light, her fight?
He stumbled into the next memory.
Another day. Another beating.
Another time Marcus dragged her into the cellar and left her there for days.
Darrian tried to break the lock. Tried to shake the walls. Screamed and clawed and fought.
But nothing worked.
He was nothing here.
Just a man watching the woman he loved be crushed, starved, and brutalized by a monster who should've died long ago.
And he couldn't save her.
Not then.
Not here.
The veil pushed every failure into him like blades. His fury. His helplessness. His need to destroy Marcus over and over again. But mostly, it whispered doubt.
How can you be enough to heal her?
Darrian dropped to his knees, shaking.
But then… a flicker.
Heather's voice. Weak. Barely audible.
"I just want to be free…"
It was her, in the dark, barely conscious, whispering her hope into the silence.
Darrian's spine straightened.
Because even then—even in the deepest part of her fear—she hadn't stopped dreaming of escape.
Of freedom.
Of more.
And now… she had him.
The veil rippled.
The forest darkened.
A door appeared, glowing faintly.
It pulsed once… then opened.
Darrian stood, breathless.
He wasn't done.
Not even close.
And as he stepped through the second veil, he carried her voice with him.
"I just want to be free…"