A week had passed since we lost Dale.

The silence in our small town felt different now—heavier. It wasn’t just the lack of noise. It was the way the wind no longer whistled through the trees, the way people moved slower, heads bowed, like grief had sunk deep into their bones.

Harold hadn’t said much in those seven days, but his actions spoke louder than words. He took it upon himself to fix the wreck of Dale’s house—quietly sanding splintered wood, patching broken walls. Then, without asking anyone, he started digging a grave in the backyard. It was simple—just a patch of dirt marked by a stone and a wooden cross. We didn’t have a body, but we needed a place to say goodbye.

When the time came, we gathered beneath a gray sky: my family, Harold, Eli, Sheriff Donovan, and a few red foxes who had recently grown close to Dale. It wasn’t a proper funeral—not by any tradition. No priest. No sermon. Just silence, wind, and the weight of what went unsaid.

Harold stepped forward first. He knelt by the grave and placed a small, weathered photograph on the ground. Then he laid a single white flower beside it. His hand lingered on the picture, fingers trembling before he stood and stepped back.

I followed.

The moment I saw the photo, my knees nearly gave out. It was a family portrait. Dale looked five, maybe ten, clinging to his mother’s leg with a grin like he’d just told a secret. His father stood behind them, arms wrapped around both of them. They looked happy. Alive.

I dropped the flower, but my hand hovered above the picture.

Then it hit me—not like a slap, but like a slow, crushing wave.

They’re gone because of me.

Tears slid down my cheeks before I realized I was crying. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it clawed its way up, leaving my chest aching.

If I hadn’t dragged Dale into this… If I’d just known more, seen the signs, asked the right questions—they’d still be here. That photo was their last memory together. And I destroyed everything that came after it.

People began to leave. My mom squeezed my shoulder. Eli gave me a quiet nod, eyes red-rimmed. Eventually, it was just me and Elder Ravenclaw.

He approached without a word, the hem of his long coat brushing the grass. I didn’t look at him. My fists were clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms.

He took my hand gently. “Unclench those hands,” he said, his voice calm and steady. Like still water at dusk.

I looked up, tears still falling. I couldn’t speak.

“Anne,” he said, meeting my gaze. “I won’t pretend to understand everything you’re feeling. But as a parent—and as a leader—if my son was in danger, and the only way to protect him was to hide him from the world, I’d do it. Even if he hated me for it. Even if it made me a monster in his eyes.”

I shook my head, my voice cracking. “But Elder Ravenclaw… I led them into this. I didn’t see what was coming. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was just... naïve.”

“Naivety isn’t a sin,” he said, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s part of growing up. It means you still have hope. And guilt? Guilt means you care. But Anne—you don’t have to carry all of this at once. Grief doesn’t follow rules. Take the time you need.”

Then, without warning, he pulled me into a hug.

I didn’t resist.

I stood there, sobbing into his shoulder, while the wind moved through the trees and the clouds hung low, like the sky itself was grieving with me.

For the first time in days, I didn’t feel entirely alone. Just one hug cracked the ice around me. But then Elder Ravenclaw stepped back, gave a quiet nod, and walked away.

And just like that, I was alone again.

I stood there, staring at the freshly packed earth. An empty grave. No body. No peace. Just a quiet patch of dirt holding everything I couldn’t say.

The wind rustled the trees above, whispering words I couldn’t quite hear. My thoughts weren’t thoughts anymore—just echoes of guilt gnawing from the inside out.

What do I do now? What’s left?

"Well?" a voice cut through the silence—small, sharp, like a needle. "What will you do next?"

I spun around, heart hammering.

There she was—the girl.

The same strange little girl who’d appeared like smoke and shadow, who led me to Alistair, who started all of this. Same wide eyes. Same eerie calm.

"You!" I gasped, anger flaring. "What are you really trying to do? You brought me to Alistair. Dropped hints about who I am. You’ve been playing some kind of game, and I’ve been your pawn. So tell me—what’s your endgame?"

She blinked, slow and unfazed, as if she’d been expecting the outburst.

"You said you wanted the truth," she said flatly. "I’m delivering it."

I stared at her, at a loss for words. Then I turned back toward the grave. Cold wind brushed my cheek. My chest still ached.

"So now that you’ve tasted the truth," she said, stepping closer, "are you still so eager to swallow the rest of it?"

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

Part of me wanted to scream. To run. But another part—deep, stubborn, maybe foolish—wanted to see it through. Even if it hurt. Even if it broke me.

I looked back at the dirt—and that’s when it happened.

A gust of wind howled through the trees. A blur of black feathers—a crow—swooped down toward the girl, clawing at her shoulder. She stumbled, eyes wide for the first time.

Then the wind and the crow twisted into a single blur and dropped something in front of me—shimmering faintly before settling into the shape of a playing card.

I froze. Kneeling, I picked it up, turning it over in my hand.

I knew this card.

It was his. The one Dale had when we first arrived.

My fingers trembled. “Dale…” I whispered.

Was this a message? A sign?

“Is this your way of telling me you’re alive?” I asked the air, voice barely audible. “Or... that I should keep going?”

Something shifted inside me. The crushing weight didn’t vanish—but it loosened. Like a hand unclenching.

I looked at the girl again, saw the scratch on her shoulder where the crow had struck.

“It hurts,” I said softly. “When people I care about suffer because of me. But I’m done running. Whatever truth is waiting... I’ll face it.”

A smile curled at her lips. “I like that. That fire in you.”

She took a step back. “As a gift—go to Naver Reeve Cave. There’s only one of its kind around here. You’ll find it. No need for me to guide you this time.”

Then—just like that—she vanished.

Gone. Like a bubble catching sunlight and popping into nothing.

“Anne!” a voice called from the distance.

I turned. Helix stood on the hill, waving.

“We’re heading home!” he shouted.

I nodded but didn’t move. I looked back at the grave one last time.

I walked up, knees unsteady, and whispered, “I’ll take care of things for now. But we’re not done, Dale... I’ll find you somehow and…”

I pressed the card to the wooden cross, letting the wind carry my last word.

“…we’ll meet again.”

Then I turned toward Helix, the card in my hand, the truth still waiting in the shadows—and a fire growing in my chest that no guilt could smother.

I ran to him, boots crunching gravel, lungs burning in the cold air. He was already leaning on the car, arms crossed, watching me with that familiar deadpan look.

“Took you long enough,” he said, but his voice was soft.

I slid into the backseat, breath coming fast. As the engine started, I rolled the window down and let the wind hit my face—sharp and cold, like ice water down my spine. I closed my eyes and let it carry everything away: the grief, the guilt, the voices whispering I should have done more.

The road curved behind us, pulling us away from Dale’s grave and back to whatever came next.

By the time we got to Harold’s place, twilight had bruised the sky. Inside, the scent of spiced tea and old wood wrapped around us like a blanket. I’d barely made it to the stairs when Harold called out, “Hold up—before you all disappear. Let’s talk first.” We paused, then followed him into the living room.

Harold stepped forward with a manila envelope. “Your parents arranged your enrollment,” he said. “You’re officially registered at Arcane Institute.”

He pulled out a glossy photo and set it on the table.

“It’s not as flashy as your old school, but it’s the best in the region. Small classes. Old traditions. High standards. You know the drill.”

Allyson leaned in, voice soft. “Oh… thank you.”

Harold nodded.

“School starts next month,” Eli said, placing three cups of tea in front of us. “We’ve got time to get your supplies—books, uniforms, the works.”

I reached for the photo. My fingers hovered before picking it up.

The campus looked ancient. Regal. Gothic towers, ivy-covered stone, courtyards carved out of time. Like it belonged to another world.

“I don’t need anyone to tell me who I am,” I said, eyes still on the picture. “I’ll find that out myself. All I ask is... don’t get in my way.”

The room went still.

Harold met my eyes. “If that’s what you want… go find it.”

Dad opened his mouth, then stopped. Mom just looked at me, her expression soft and worried—like she always wore when she thought I was about to do something reckless.

Then Harold did something I didn’t expect. He bit his thumb hard enough to draw blood and pressed it to the back of the photo. A crimson thumbprint bloomed across the white.

“This will do,” he said. “I, Harold, Alpha of the Wolf Pack, swear on behalf of my pack—we won’t stand in your way. We’ll support you, no matter what. If we break that oath... I’ll pay for it with my life.”

He handed me the photo. The blood was still warm on the surface.

“Is that enough, my granddaughter?”

My heart pounded. I nodded. “Yes. It is... Grandpa.”

I tucked the photo under my arm and walked toward the stairs—toward whatever came next.

Behind me, the room stayed quiet. But something had changed.