A month had passed since Theron first arrived here, his body barely clinging to life, covered in wounds that had nearly claimed him. Now, those wounds had healed. Only faint scars remained—a reminder of the betrayal and downfall he had endured.
In the small, secluded cabin deep in the forest, Lysandra stood by a wooden table, deftly mixing a potion. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and the faint, metallic tang of blood. She knew today would be Theron's last day here.
"So, you're really leaving?" she asked without looking up, her voice flat.
Theron, fastening his cloak, let out a slow breath. "I can't stay any longer. I have unfinished business."
Lysandra let out a dry, sarcastic chuckle. "Of course. The exiled prince finally feels well-rested and ready to face the world. Are you sure you're strong enough? I'd hate to hear that you died like an idiot out there."
Theron smirked, glancing at her. "Don't worry, witch. I'm not that easy to kill. You're going to miss me, aren't you?"
Lysandra set down a glass vial a little harder than necessary before turning to him, her expression unreadable. "Miss you? Not really. But I will miss the peace and quiet I'll finally have once you're gone."
Theron laughed, stepping toward the door. "I'll remember that. See you around, Lysandra."
Lysandra watched his back as he walked away, then said blankly, "Try not to die stupidly, Theron."
Without turning, Theron simply raised a hand in farewell before disappearing into the forest's shadows. The wind picked up, carrying away a month's worth of arguments, wounds, and just a little—only a little—understanding between them.
***
Theron stepped into the forest known as the Woods of Woe, a place whispered to be filled with death and terrifying legends. The towering trees around him twisted their branches together like skeletal hands reaching for something unseen. A heavy fog clung to the air, suffocating and cold, making it difficult to see more than a few meters ahead. The damp earth carried a faint stench of decay, reminding him of the stories about those who wandered into this place and never returned.
But unlike the ones who had vanished, Theron had an advantage: the small blue orb Lysandra had given him. It floated ahead of him, glowing softly, like a guiding star in the darkness. Whenever he hesitated, the orb flickered gently, signaling the right path. Yet, despite this reassurance, unease coiled tightly around him. It felt as if something was watching—lurking in the shadows, just beyond his sight.
Dry leaves crunched beneath his boots as he moved deeper, his breath slow and controlled, trying to steady his heartbeat. He wasn't easily frightened, but this place… there was something wrong with this place. Strange sounds echoed around him—whispers he couldn't quite understand, like the wind speaking in an unfamiliar language.
Suddenly, a branch above snapped and crashed to the ground, making him instinctively shift to the side. In the darkness, faint yellow eyes flickered before disappearing just as quickly. Theron clenched his fists, ready for an attack—but nothing came. Only silence. A silence too deep, as if this forest was more than just trees and shadows.
After hours of walking, his legs grew heavy. Though his wounds had mostly healed thanks to Lysandra's care, his body was still not at full strength. He glanced at the glowing orb, still floating tirelessly ahead. "Would be nice if you could lead me to a place to rest," he muttered, sarcasm lacing his voice. Of course, the orb didn't respond.
He kept moving until he finally saw the edge of the forest. The moonlight cut through the trees more clearly now, a sign that he was close to leaving this cursed place. But just as he stepped forward, something blocked his path.
A man stood at the forest's edge, his stance rigid and alert.
The stranger's sharp gaze landed on the floating orb beside Theron, his eyes narrowing. "You're not from around here," he said, his voice low and wary.
Theron scoffed, already tired of this night. "Trust me, I don't want to be here any longer than necessary."
The man didn't respond immediately. Instead, he studied Theron from head to toe, considering something. "Come with me. There's someone who wants to meet you."
Theron's eyes narrowed, his guard still up. "And if I refuse?"
The man smirked. "You just walked out of the Woods of Woe alive. That's already enough to draw our attention. So I'd say… refusing isn't really an option."
Theron weighed his choices for a moment before exhaling sharply. With careful steps, he followed the stranger, leaving the forest behind. But he knew this wasn't the end of his journey—only the beginning of something far greater and, perhaps, even more dangerous.
*
Theron was pulled into a hidden village at the forest's edge, a refuge for werewolves without a pack—the exiled, the outcasts, those who had fled the endless wars between clans. Suspicious eyes followed him as he walked through the narrow pathways between rundown huts. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood and damp earth, laced with a faint trace of blood that kept his instincts sharp.
"I know that face," an old man murmured, his voice rough with age. "Rumor had it you were dead, heir of the Umbra Clan."
Theron turned, his gaze cold and unreadable. A smirk curled on his lips, arrogant and unbothered. "If I'm dead, then I must be a very persistent ghost, don't you think?" His tone dripped with sarcasm. "Unfortunately for some, I'm not that easy to bury."
Murmurs spread through the village. Some looked wary, while others seemed intrigued by his presence. But before anyone could press further, a mocking laugh cut through the air.
"Or maybe you just got lost and nearly died in that forest," a voice sneered from the shadows.
Theron let out a slow breath, his eyes narrowing at the one who dared to challenge him. "Lost?" he echoed, his voice dangerously calm. "That forest threw everything it had at me, tried to kill me in every way possible… but I'm standing here, in front of you. Does that sound like someone who was lost?"
Silence settled over the crowd before one of the villagers finally spoke. "You might have survived, but that doesn't mean you're welcome here. The ruling clans don't take kindly to people like you."
Theron's smirk didn't waver, but his gaze grew sharper. "Believe me, I don't care who likes me or not," he said smoothly. "I just want to know… which one of you still has the guts to defy the rightful heir of the Umbra Clan?"