The forest waited for them, vast and silent. The trees stood shoulder to shoulder like sentinels, their bark slick with silver moss that shimmered faintly under the moonlight. The air smelled of metal and rain. Somewhere inside, the vines pulsed with the same rhythm as Elena's heartbeat.
Calen's hand brushed her arm as he stepped ahead, testing the ground. "Stay close," he said, his voice low, calm, but tight at the edges.
"I wasn't planning to run," Elena replied, though her voice trembled. She could still feel the light from the explosion burning behind her eyes—she had done that. The energy had come from her, and yet she hadn't meant to release it.
The first step into the forest was like stepping underwater. The air thickened, colder. The wind stilled. Even the wolves that had followed them to the edge stopped, whining low. Calen glanced back once, then forward again. "Whatever's in here… it's watching."
Elena swallowed. "Then we should give it something to see."
He looked at her sharply, as if surprised at her steadiness. But he said nothing more. They moved forward, shoulder to shoulder. Every few steps, Calen would glance her way—not protectively this time, but searchingly, like he was trying to read something written on her skin.
The deeper they went, the brighter the moss grew. The vines twisted along the trunks, black veins with faint pulses of red. When Elena brushed one accidentally, the light in it flickered—then steadied to her touch.
"They respond to you," Calen murmured. "Like they know you."
"They're part of the curse," she said, her throat tight. "Maybe I'm part of it too."
He stopped. The light from the vines caught in his eyes, turning them molten gold. "Don't ever say that again," he said, low and firm.
"I'm serious. You saw what happened back there. I can't control it—"
"Then we learn how." He took her hand before she could pull back. His palm was rough, warm. "You're not the curse, Elena. You're the key."
Something in his voice—some fragile note she hadn't heard before—made her chest ache. She didn't know if it was faith or desperation that drove him, but either way, it tethered her there.
A sound broke the silence—a whisper like a sigh, then another. The vines rustled even though the air was still. Calen's grip on her hand tightened. "They're moving."
The vines slithered down from the trees, curling like serpents. One brushed against Elena's boot and recoiled as if stung. Then, slowly, they began to part, creating a path.
Calen drew his sword. "That's not comforting."
But Elena stepped forward before he could stop her. "It wants us to follow."
"How do you know?"
She didn't. But something deep in her bones recognized the rhythm pulsing through the earth. It wasn't danger calling—it was something older, something that felt like memory.
Calen cursed softly but moved beside her anyway. "If we die, I'm haunting you."
"Good," she said, and almost smiled.
The path led them into a clearing where moonlight fell in a perfect circle. The ground was bare except for a single stone altar, cracked through the center. The vines pulsed beneath it like veins under skin.
Elena stepped closer, drawn as if by invisible strings. The energy hummed louder in her chest. Her palms itched with heat. "It's here," she whispered. "The heart."
Calen sheathed his sword slowly. "This is what's been spreading through the vineyard."
"Yes." Her voice faltered. "But it's more than that. This place—it feels alive."
The vines trembled, and from the crack in the altar, light spilled upward in a thin column. Symbols burned faintly on the stone—old runes, sharp and curved, like claws and moons intertwined.
Calen crouched beside it. "These markings—I've seen them in the library records. They're from the Anchor's Circle."
Elena's pulse quickened. "Anchor," she repeated. "Like you called me."
He looked up at her then, eyes steady. "Not what I called you. What the bond called you."
Before she could speak, the light flared again. A voice, faint but clear, rose from the vines—it was not human, not beast, but something in between.
"Elena."
Her name echoed like a breath inside her skull. She staggered back. Calen reached for her but froze as the vines began to rise, twisting around her ankles like curious hands.
"Elena!" He tried to cut them, but the blade glanced off harmlessly. The vines pulsed red, wrapping around her arms and her waist, not hurting—just holding.
"It's okay," she said, though her voice shook. "I can feel it. It's… showing me something."
Through the bond, flashes of memory surged—silver moons, ancient wolves kneeling, a circle of light, and a woman with her face. A curse born of betrayal. A promise bound in blood.
Then the vines released her all at once, dropping her to her knees.
Calen caught her before she hit the ground. "Elena—what happened?"
She looked up, eyes wide and glowing faintly. "The curse wasn't made to destroy the Alpha line," she whispered. "It was made to contain it."
He stared at her. "Contain?"
"The Anchor… It's not a chain. It's a seal. It's meant to hold back something worse."
Before he could respond, the ground trembled. A howl tore through the air—deep, guttural, and furious. Calen turned, drawing his sword again. From between the trees, shapes moved—wolfish but twisted, eyes burning like coals.
"The curse's guardians," he said grimly. "We need to move."
But the creatures didn't attack immediately. They circled, growling, wary. One sniffed the air, then whimpered and backed away, eyes locked on Elena.
"They're afraid," she said softly. "They can smell the bond."
Calen stepped closer to her. "Then use it."
"How?"
"Feel what you felt before. When you stopped them in the vineyard."
Elena closed her eyes, heart pounding. The memory of that blinding light rose behind her eyelids—the pull, the surrender, the terrifying freedom. She reached for it again, and warmth bloomed under her skin.
The vines around the altar brightened, responding to her pulse. The creatures snarled but didn't advance. The air trembled, charged.
Calen touched her shoulder. "That's it. Whatever you're doing—keep doing it."
The ground cracked. Light shot up again, this time enveloping both of them. Calen's grip tightened on her, grounding her as the bond pulsed between them—wild, alive, and dangerous.
Then everything went still.
When the light faded, the creatures were gone. Only the faint shimmer of dust hung in the air.
Elena swayed, exhausted. "They're not dead," she whispered. "Just… waiting."
Calen caught her before she could fall. His arm circled her waist, steadying her. "You did that."
"No," she said, breathless. "We did."
For a moment, neither spoke. Their faces were inches apart, breaths mingling. The vines' light cast them in silver and shadow. The air between them thickened with words unsaid.
Then, slowly, Calen leaned closer. "If the curse was made to contain something," he murmured, "what happens if we keep breaking it?"
Her gaze met his. "Then whatever's sealed will wake."
Before he could respond, a whisper rose from the vines again—soft, pleading, almost tender.
"Anchor… return."
Calen's hand found hers. "We're leaving. Now."
They backed out of the clearing, the vines shifting behind them, closing the path they had come through. By the time they reached the treeline, the moon had sunk lower, and the first hint of dawn painted the vineyard in pale gray.
Elena glanced back once. The forest seemed still again, but the echo of that voice lingered in her mind.
Calen stopped at the edge and turned to face her. "We're not safe here anymore," he said quietly. "The curse knows you now."
She nodded, feeling the truth of it like a weight in her chest. "Then we find out why."
As the first sunlight broke over the vines, the mark on her wrist shimmered faintly—no longer gold, but deep crimson, like wine.
The forest's call to "Anchor, return" signals that Elena's awakening has connected her to the heart of the curse—and that whatever is sealed beneath the vineyard has begun to stir.