Chapter 46:Echoes of the Lost Tribe

Chapter 46: Chapter 46:Echoes of the Lost Tribe

The morning after their encounter with the Dreadborn was strangely quiet.

Snow had fallen throughout the night, covering the outer paths of the Blackfang settlement beneath a fresh layer of white.

The trees stood motionless beneath the weight of frost, their branches bending slightly whenever the cold mountain wind passed through them.

Even the usual sounds of hunters preparing for the day’s work seemed quieter than before.

Ash noticed Aren standing alone near the edge of the settlement.

The young Silver Lynx had been there for several minutes without moving.

His pale eyes were fixed toward the northern mountains, where the peaks disappeared behind layers of mist and drifting snow.

His body remained still, but something about his posture told Ash that his mind was far away.

Ash approached carefully and stood beside him.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Aren continued staring into the distance.

Ash finally glanced at him and asked, "You’re thinking about your tribe again, aren’t you?"

Aren’s ears moved slightly, but he didn’t look at Ash. His expression remained difficult to read, although the tension in his shoulders became more noticeable.

After several seconds, he slowly nodded.

Ash understood.

Since the day they had discovered the ruins beneath the old Silver Lynx settlement, Aren had changed. He had always been quiet and cautious, but there had been something different about him lately.

Before, he had carried the loneliness of someone who believed he had lost everyone.

Now he carried something far more dangerous.

Hope.

And hope, Ash had learned, could sometimes hurt more than grief.

Aren lowered his head and looked at the broken pendant hanging around his neck.

The small object had become one of the most important things he possessed. Its surface was old and worn, with a strange blue symbol carved into the center. One side of the pendant had been broken away, leaving an uneven edge where something had once connected to it.

Ash remembered the day Aren had given him the pendant.

He also remembered the way Elder Mira had reacted after seeing the symbol.

The symbol was older than the Blackfang Pack itself.

That knowledge alone had been enough to make Ash uneasy.

But this morning, Aren seemed troubled by something else.

Ash looked toward the pendant and asked, "Did you recognize something when we were in the ruins?"

Aren’s claws tightened slightly around the pendant.

He remained silent.

Ash didn’t pressure him.

After everything Aren had already lost, Ash knew that some memories could not simply be pulled out of someone by asking the right question.

Instead, Ash sat down beside him.

The two watched the northern mountains together.

Eventually Aren whispered, "There was a place."

Ash turned his head.

Aren’s voice was low and hesitant.

"My tribe had hunting grounds north of the old settlement. We stopped going there before the others disappeared."

"Why?"

Aren looked toward the mountains again.

"Because the elders said something was watching."

Ash felt a faint chill despite the cold.

He remembered the enormous eyes he had seen in the forest.

He remembered the ancient tracks surrounding the Blackfang settlement.

And he remembered the warning carved into the ruins.

Do not awaken the Guardian.

Before Ash could ask another question, Aren suddenly stood.

His head turned toward the forest.

His ears pointed forward.

Ash immediately became alert.

"What is it?"

Aren didn’t answer.

Instead, he began walking toward the western edge of the settlement.

Ash followed.

Aren moved quickly but carefully, slipping between trees without disturbing the snow. Ash had to hurry to keep up with him, but he noticed something strange.

Aren wasn’t tracking an animal.

He was following a memory.

They eventually reached a narrow trail that led away from the Blackfang territory.

The path was almost completely covered by snow, but Aren seemed to know exactly where to go.

He stopped beside an old tree whose trunk had been scarred by years of weather.

A series of shallow marks were carved into the bark.

Three diagonal scratches.

Then two.

Then another three.

Aren stared at them.

Ash stepped closer.

"What do they mean?"

Aren touched the markings gently with one paw.

"Silver Lynx."

Ash studied the tree.

"You used these?"

"Not exactly."

Aren’s eyes narrowed.

"My tribe used marks like these to identify safe hunting paths."

He paused.

"But these are old."

Ash looked down at the snow.

Then he noticed something.

There were tracks beneath the tree.

They had been partially covered by the previous night’s snowfall, but they were still visible.

Aren crouched immediately.

His breathing changed.

Ash moved beside him.

The tracks were unmistakable.

A Silver Lynx had passed through this place recently.

Not days ago.

Not weeks ago.

Recently.

Aren followed the tracks with his eyes.

His expression became increasingly difficult for Ash to understand.

Hope.

Fear.

Disbelief.

All of them seemed to exist within him at the same time.

Ash quietly asked, "You think someone survived?"

Aren didn’t answer.

He simply continued following the tracks.

They led deeper into the forest.

The trees became thicker, and the snow beneath them was less disturbed by wind. Ancient branches formed a natural roof overhead, allowing only thin rays of pale morning light to reach the ground.

Aren suddenly stopped.

Something was buried beneath the snow.

He dug carefully.

After several moments, his claws struck stone.

Aren removed the snow completely and uncovered a small carved object.

It was a flat piece of pale stone, roughly the size of Ash’s paw.

The same blue symbol from Aren’s pendant had been carved into its surface.

But there was something beneath it.

Three claw lines.

Aren stared at them.

Ash waited.

Finally, Aren whispered, "The path is safe."

Ash looked at him.

"What?"

"This was an old signal."

Aren ran his claws over the markings.

"When scouts returned safely, they left three claw lines beneath the tribe’s symbol."

His voice trembled slightly.

"But only elders were allowed to leave them."

Ash looked back at the trail.

"Then someone from your tribe came through here."

Aren nodded.

"But when?"

Ash glanced at the fresh tracks.

"Recently."

Aren closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them again, there was something in them that Ash had never seen before.

Determination.

Aren began moving again.

This time, Ash followed without asking questions.

The trail continued north.

The forest gradually changed as they climbed higher. The trees became smaller, the snow deeper, and the wind sharper. Several times Aren stopped to inspect branches or rocks, searching for signs that only he could recognize.

They found more markings.

Some were ancient.

Others were fresh.

One had been carved into a frozen tree only a few days earlier.

Aren touched it.

His claws trembled.

Ash watched him carefully.

"Are you all right?"

Aren swallowed.

"I don’t know."

They continued.

By late afternoon, the forest opened into a steep ravine.

Aren stopped at its edge.

Across the ravine stood a wall of rock covered with snow and thick hanging vines.

At first, Ash saw nothing unusual.

Then Aren walked toward the rock wall and pushed aside the frozen vines.

A narrow opening appeared behind them.

Ash stared.

"There was a cave here?"

Aren shook his head.

"It wasn’t a cave."

He stepped inside.

"It was hidden."

Ash followed.

The passage was narrow enough that they had to move sideways in some places. The stone walls were smooth, almost unnaturally so, and faint scratches could be seen beneath the layers of ice.

The deeper they went, the warmer the air became.

That made no sense.

They should have been moving into colder mountain territory.

Instead, a faint warmth touched Ash’s face.

Then he smelled smoke.

Aren smelled it too.

They both stopped.

Someone had been here.

Aren moved forward slowly.

The passage widened.

And suddenly they entered a hidden valley.

Ash stood completely still.

The valley was surrounded by enormous cliffs on three sides, protecting it from the strongest mountain winds. Snow covered most of the ground, but beneath the trees were small patches of exposed earth.

There were old shelters built from stone and branches.

Several had collapsed.

Others remained intact.

Ash noticed a small fire pit.

The ashes were dark.

But they were not frozen.

Someone had used it recently.

Aren stepped forward.

His breathing became heavier.

There were fish bones near one of the shelters.

Fresh herbs hung from a wooden frame.

And on a nearby stone, caught against the edge by the wind, was a tuft of silver fur.

Aren picked it up.

His eyes closed.

For several seconds he simply stood there holding it.

Ash could see the emotion in his face.

He had spent so long believing he was alone.

Now every small sign seemed to challenge that belief.

"Aren," Ash said quietly.

Aren looked at him.

"There is someone here."

Aren nodded.

But instead of happiness, fear appeared in his expression.

Ash noticed.

"What’s wrong?"

Aren looked toward the deeper part of the valley.

"My people didn’t hide here."

He paused.

"They were afraid of something."

A cold silence settled between them.

Then a voice came from somewhere beyond the trees.

"You should not have come here, Aren."

Aren froze.

Ash’s entire body tightened.

The voice had been old, but it was not weak.

It carried the authority of someone who had survived too many winters to fear another.

Aren slowly turned.

An elderly Silver Lynx stepped out from behind the trees.

His fur was mostly silver-white, with darker patches around his neck and face. One of his eyes was clouded by an old injury, and several long scars crossed his shoulder and chest. A thick white streak ran from his forehead down toward his cheek.

He looked at Aren for several seconds.

Neither moved.

Then the old Silver Lynx whispered, "You survived."

Aren’s eyes widened.

"Elder Kael."

The old lynx’s expression changed.

For the first time, Ash saw something break through his guarded face.

Shock.

Then disbelief.

Then something resembling grief.

Kael took one step forward.

Aren instinctively moved toward him.

But Kael immediately raised his claws.

"Stay back."

Aren stopped.

Ash noticed something.

Kael wasn’t afraid of Aren.

His gaze had shifted toward Ash.

The old lynx was staring directly at the black relic hanging against Ash’s chest.

His breathing became slower.

His face lost its color.

Then he whispered something that made Ash’s stomach tighten.

"So... the heir finally awakened."

Ash instinctively touched the relic.

"What heir?"

Kael didn’t answer.

He continued staring at the black stone.

The relic remained dark.

But Ash could feel a faint warmth beneath his paw.

Kael finally looked away.

"Aren, you shouldn’t have brought him here."

Aren stepped between Kael and Ash.

"He saved my life."

Kael’s eyes returned to Ash.

"That is precisely why I am afraid."

To be continued...