Chapter 77

“Howling? Was it really howling?”

Cura’s voice was skeptical, but she leaned slightly out of the window, mimicking Elena’s motion, her ears twitching as if listening for the sound.

Elena hesitated, wondering if perhaps she had misheard it.

But then, a series of howls echoed through the forest, sharp and chilling.

“What’s going on?” Cura frowned, her eyes narrowing as she looked toward the distant trees.

Elena’s heart hammered in her chest. An unfamiliar sense of dread coiled around her, suffocating her and leaving her rooted to the spot.

The air had grown unnervingly cold, though she couldn’t tell whether it was the wind or her own growing anxiety that made her shiver.

Though her eyes hadn’t intentionally sought it out, the bright glow from the forest was unmistakable. It shimmered in the night, a red light lingering like the final remnants of sunset, now fading into the darkness.

“Cura, that’s a fire, right?” Elena’s voice trembled as she steadied herself against the window frame, forcing the words out.

“Yes, that’s right,” Cura replied, though her expression darkened. “But in that direction, that’s the village where the White Fox Tribe lives… Our lord and my brother went there today.”

Elena’s stomach twisted. Could it be…?

She tried to shake off the feeling, hoping it was just her imagination running wild. But the unease gnawed at her insides, and she gripped the window frame harder, her fingers turning white as she struggled to keep herself steady.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, something else caught her attention—a tower rising high into the sky, visible even through the darkness.

It was the same tower that had drawn her gaze the first time she entered the library, the only one in the castle with a small barred window. The one connected by a hidden path to another tower.

At that moment, something clicked in her mind.

Without a second thought, Elena turned and ran out of the library, her pulse quickening as she hurried down the corridor, urgency propelling her forward.

“Elena? Where are you going?”

Cura’s startled voice echoed down the hallway as she hurried to catch up, confusion lacing her tone.

Elena didn’t have time to answer or even glance back. Her breath quickened as she lifted the front hem of her dress, propelling herself forward. The new leather shoes Kennard had bought for her, with their pointed toes and high heels, were more suited for walking gracefully than running.

But she had no choice.

Her body lurched forward with each stride, the tight shoes pressing painfully against her toes, and her balance wavering with every step. Despite the discomfort, Elena didn’t falter. She pushed herself harder, unwilling to slow down.

“Elena!”

Cura’s voice, breathless and frantic, followed her as she dashed down the hall.

The knights who had been quietly shadowing her presence were closing in too, their pheromones growing stronger in the air.

But Elena didn’t look back. Her focus was fixed solely on the path ahead.

She reached the end of the hallway and didn’t hesitate, immediately turning toward the spiral stone stairs that twisted upward around a massive central pillar. Her legs burned with the effort, but she ignored it, climbing faster.

Her breath was sharp and uneven, and her heart pounded so fiercely she thought it might explode from her chest.

“Elena, where are you going?”

The knights had caught up with her by the time she reached the base of the stairs, and they moved to block her way.

“Please move,” Elena urged, her voice strained with urgency.

She needed to get to a higher vantage point—needed to see the situation outside the castle, to understand what was happening.

But the knights, unable to grasp the gravity of her desperation, stood firm in her path.

“We asked where you’re going. If you go up here, all you’ll find are the castle walls and towers,” one of the knights said, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“I know. That’s exactly why I’m going,” Elena replied, her voice resolute.

“What?” The knights exchanged puzzled glances.

“I’m sorry.”

Before they could react, Elena stepped forward, extending her arm as if to push past them. Startled, the knights instinctively moved aside, unwilling to make physical contact with her. Taking advantage of the moment, Elena slipped between them and continued climbing the stairs.

“We can’t stop her. Let’s just follow,” one knight muttered to his companion as they began trailing after her.

At the top of the seemingly endless staircase, a heavy iron door came into view.

Bang.

Elena threw her weight against the door, pushing with all her might. To her surprise, it creaked open with little resistance. The momentum carried her forward, and she stumbled, falling hard onto the stone path beyond.

Sharp pain flared in her palms as they scraped against the rough surface. She hissed softly, glancing down to see thin lines of blood trickling from the fresh cuts. But she ignored the stinging ache.

“Elena?”

The knights stationed along the castle walls turned in alarm, their eyes widening as they spotted her sudden appearance.

They had been gazing toward the distant fire on the far side of the forest, but her unexpected arrival pulled their attention.

“Are you alright?” one knight asked cautiously, stepping closer but hesitating to touch her. They exchanged uneasy glances, no doubt wondering how Kennard would react if they mishandled the situation in his absence.

“I’m fine.”

Elena wiped her bleeding palms against the hem of her dress and forced herself to stand. A sharp pang shot through her ankle as she put weight on it, and a dull, throbbing ache radiated up her leg with each step.

“Haah… haah… Elena… why are you here all of a sudden?” Cura’s voice reached her, breathless and strained.

Elena turned to see Cura leaning against the doorframe, her chest heaving as if she might collapse at any moment. “Why did you run off like that?”

“I thought I might see more clearly from here,” Elena replied evenly, her tone casual despite her racing heart.

The knights standing guard stepped aside, their expressions a mix of concern and uncertainty as Elena walked past them.

She stopped halfway along the wall and turned toward the forest, her breath catching in her throat.

The stone barrier barely reached her shoulders, with small square openings that allowed an unobstructed view of the horizon. Elena gripped the edge of the wall and peered out, her wide eyes scanning the darkness.

From this high vantage point, the scene unfolded before her in harrowing clarity. What had once been small, flickering lights in the distance had now transformed into roaring infernos. Flames surged into the night sky, consuming everything in their path.

Thick black smoke spiraled upward, expanding rapidly like an ominous storm cloud. For a brief moment, Elena’s vision wavered.

In her disoriented state, the chaotic scene seemed to blend with another—a memory, perhaps? Birds, startled from their slumber, flapped their wings frantically, scattering into the night. The sight triggered a jarring sense of déjà vu.

Two eerily similar landscapes overlapped in her mind, then tore apart as though ripping at the seams of her reality. Was this truly happening, or was it a vision from her past?

Faint, haunting screams echoed in her ears. Cries of terror and anguish—raw and desperate—cut through the night like the sharp edge of a blade.

Elena clutched her ears, trying to block out the phantom sounds, her body curling inward as if to shield herself.

“Elena, what’s wrong?” Cura’s voice reached her, faint and distorted, as though muffled by water.

But Elena couldn’t respond. Her chest tightened as flames suddenly erupted closer, licking the edges of the castle wall.

Thick, acrid smoke swept over her, stinging her eyes and choking her lungs. Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably, and her breaths came in shallow gasps.

“Haah… haah… help me…” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper, as panic overtook her.

Stumbling backward, she grabbed the iron handle of the door behind her, banging on it with all her remaining strength.

“Help me! I’m scared! Please, someone…” Her screams tore from her throat, raw and desperate, but they were swallowed by the chaos around her.

The smoke thickened, pressing against her lungs like a vice. She could feel it invading her, suffocating her, as her cries for help became rasping gasps.

“Please…” Her voice faltered, fading into the cacophony of distant screams and the relentless roar of fire.

Elena’s chest heaved as she struggled to breathe, each cough racking her body with pain. She pounded on the heavy door with her fists, her desperation mounting with every blow.

“Open the door! I’m here—please, open it!”

Tears streamed down her soot-streaked face, blurring her vision. The sharp sting in her eyes made it nearly impossible to keep them open, and the acrid smoke clawing at her throat stole what little air she could grasp.

The world around her spun, tilting as though the ground itself were rising to crush her. Her head throbbed, and her legs buckled beneath her.

Elena collapsed onto the cold stone floor, her strength drained. The chaos around her seemed to fade, the deafening roar of the flames and distant cries dimming as if muffled by an unseen veil.

Time stretched unnaturally—each second felt like an eternity. Through half-lidded eyes, she blinked sluggishly, the world around her moving in hazy, fragmented images.

Then, a creak.

The iron door, which had seemed immovable moments ago, groaned open. A figure stepped through, their movements hurried yet unsteady, as though they were on the verge of collapse themselves.

They dropped to their knees before her, hands trembling as they gently cradled her head.

“Elena!”

Though their voice was strained with urgency, it felt distant, as if coming from the other side of a thick fog. Elena tried to focus, but their face remained a blur.

All she could make out was the soft glow of red hair—a hue strikingly similar to her own.

Warmth enveloped her as the person pulled her into an embrace, their hands tenderly brushing her cheek. The familiar scent of their pheromones reached her, stirring a sense of safety and comfort deep within her fading consciousness.

“Mom…”

The word slipped from her lips in a barely audible whisper.

Reassured by the warmth and the soothing touch, Elena allowed her eyes to close, her mind surrendering to the darkness with a faint sense of peace.

***

“No!”

Elena’s scream tore through her throat, raw and desperate. She thrashed violently, her limbs flailing as if trying to escape an unseen force.

She thought her voice had echoed loud enough to shatter the silence, but as her awareness returned, she realized the scream existed only in her mind. Her lips parted soundlessly, the echoes trapped within her.

She opened her eyes, and an icy chill cascaded through her body, from her scalp to her toes. Cold sweat clung to her skin, her breaths ragged and shallow, as if she’d been running endlessly without pause.

Her heart pounded furiously, each beat an echoing drum in her chest that refused to settle. Slowly, her breaths steadied, and her eyes began to adjust to the dim light surrounding her.

A rich blue silk curtain embroidered with intricate golden patterns came into view, hanging from a wooden pillar with carved reliefs. Its edges were neatly tied with decorative cords. Beyond the blue curtain hung a delicate white veil, so thin it was almost transparent, swaying faintly like a whisper in the air.

Elena became aware of the firm yet soft mattress beneath her, the heavy warmth of thick sheets draped over her.

For a long moment, her mind was blank—a void of thought or memory. Then, recognition dawned.

This was her bed. The one she shared with Kennard.

“When did I come back here?” she murmured softly to herself, her voice barely audible.

She couldn’t remember. The last clear image in her mind was of standing atop the castle wall, looking down at the village of the White Fox Tribe engulfed in chaos.

Had it all been a dream?

A strange sensation gripped her. The harder she tried to grasp at the memories, the more they slipped away—dissolving like shadows chased by the dawn. A dull ache bloomed at her temples as the fragments of the nightmare receded into nothingness.

It was as if her mind was deliberately shielding her from the terror, burying it beneath layers of forgetfulness.

Elena sighed and let her body sink deeper into the bed, deciding to stop forcing the memory. Slowly, she turned her head to peer past the curtain.

Cura sat slumped in a chair beside the bed, her chin dipping toward her chest as she dozed. Her head bobbed slightly with each shallow breath, the fatigue evident in her peaceful but weary posture.