The council tent was quiet.
Not the comfortable kind — the kind where even breathing felt intrusive.
Beyond the canvas walls, insects chirped and an owl called into the night, but inside, every sound seemed distant, muffled by the weight of Cyan's words. The elders sat around the low table, expressions grave, eyes fixed on him.
All, except Aris.
She stood apart, back against one of the tent poles, eyes closed, arms folded. Unmoving.
Listening.
Cyan drew a breath and continued. "Normally, monsters don't abandon their territory," he said, voice steady but tight. "They fight until they die. That's their nature. They don't run unless something forces them to."
Lyriel leaned forward slightly. Small, composed, her fingers folded neatly in her lap. "And you're certain this isn't coincidence?" she asked. Her voice was calm, curious rather than challenging. "Monsters migrate sometimes."
Cyan shook his head. "Not like this."
Randell watched him from the side, heart thudding. Careful, he thought. They won't accept guesses.
Cyan met Lyriel's gaze. "This wasn't migration. It was fear."
A murmur rippled through the tent.
Ryker exhaled slowly. "Fear of what?"
Cyan answered without hesitation. "I explain in a different approach.... The wolves."
Silence snapped into place.
Marilin frowned. "The… wolves?"
Cyan turned slightly toward Randell. "Tell them what you noticed."
Randell straightened, suddenly very aware of every pair of eyes on him. He scratched the back of his neck. "I didn't think much of it at first," he admitted. "But the way they moved… it was off."
Lyriel tilted her head. "Off how?"
"They weren't hunting," Randell said slowly, choosing his words. "The coach was packed with carcasses. Blood. Fresh meat. Shadow Wolves wouldn't ignore that."
Alara nodded. "Yet they attacked you."
"They didn't attack the coach," Randell corrected. "They went for the roof. For us. Like they were trying to drive us out."
Cyan picked up immediately. "Exactly. Shadow Wolves kill to eat. They don't waste energy otherwise. Which means their goal wasn't food."
Ryker's brows knit together. "Then what?"
"To protect something," Cyan said. "Or to keep us away from it."
The tent felt smaller.
Marilin crossed her arms. "You're saying there's something in the forest that even Shadow Wolves won't challenge."
"Yes," Cyan said firmly. "And whatever it is, it's not human. Wolves don't fear people. Not ever."
No one spoke.
Even Aris, still motionless, seemed sharper somehow — as if the air around her had tightened.
Lyriel broke the silence, worry seeping into her voice. "Then what do you propose we do?"
Cyan didn't hesitate. "We scout. Me, Randell, Ryan. Quiet. Fast. In and out."
"No."
Marilin's voice cut through the tent like a blade.
Cyan blinked. "—What?"
"Request denied," she said, standing. "Absolutely not." Marilin added.
Confusion flashed across his face. "Mother—"
"You are not entering that forest," Marilin said, her tone ironclad. "None of you are."
Randell shifted uncomfortably. "Ma'am, with respect—"
"I said no."
Cyan's pulse spiked. "It's just reconnaissance. We won't engage—"
"That's exactly how people die," Marilin snapped. "By saying 'just.'"
Alara raised a calming hand. "Let's slow down—"
"No," Cyan said, frustration bleeding through. "You all know we can handle this. Winter is coming. If we wait and the monsters are gone, the village starves."
Ryker shook his head. "You're thinking like a hunter, not a leader."
Cyan turned to him sharply. "And you're thinking like someone who's forgotten what waits when you hesitate."
Marilin's eyes hardened. "Enough. You are children. All of you. My word stands."
Cyan's fists clenched. His jaw tightened so hard it hurt.
Randell stepped forward. "Mother, please—"
"I will not bury my son because he wanted to play hero," Marilin said coldly. "Forest access is forbidden. Effective immediately."
Cyan tasted blood.
Alara noticed. "Cyan—your lip—"
He ignored her.
"So that's it?" he asked quietly. "We just pretend nothing's wrong?"
Marilin stepped closer, softer now. "I'm protecting you."
He shrugged her hand off.
"You're not my mother."
The words hit harder than a shout.
The tent froze.
Aris opened one eye.
The pressure was instant — suffocating. Cyan felt it like a weight on his spine. He met her gaze for half a second.
Then he broke.
He turned and stormed out.
Randell followed.
Behind them, Marilin collapsed to her knees, shaking. The council moved to her side, murmuring comfort.
Aris exhaled, then walked forward and bowed deeply. " Blame, I taught him to act. I taught him to decide. His failure is mine"
Lyriel softened. "That's not important right now... Go after him."
Outside, Cyan walked fast. Too fast.
Randell grabbed his arm. "Cyan—"
"Let go."
"Was that really necessary?"
Cyan spun. "You don't know anything!"
"That's not true—"
"I'm not even your real brother!" Cyan snapped. "Just some kid your mother found by a stream!"
Silence.
Randell's face fell — not angry. Hurt.
"…Okay," he said quietly. "I'll give you space."
He turned away.
Cyan kept walking.
Past the houses. Past the lanterns. Past the voices.
Until the village ended.
The cliff waited.
Cyan reached it breathless, chest tight, legs trembling. He dropped into the grass and let himself fall backward, staring up at the stars.
Cold seeped through him.
Anger drained, leaving only regret.
"I didn't mean it," he whispered to the sky.
The forest below lay unnaturally still.
Too still.
Cyan closed his eyes — and didn't notice when sleep finally claimed him.
Meanwhile.
Marilin remained where she had fallen, long after the tent had emptied.
The voices were gone.
The council.
The arguments.
Even the air felt heavier without them. Her hands rested uselessly in her lap, fingers trembling as if they didn't belong to her anymore.
She tried to steady her breathing.
It wouldn't slow.
You're not my mother.
The words replayed, not loudly—worse. Calm. Certain.
She pressed her palm to her chest, as if she could physically hold something together inside her. For the past years, she had faced winters that took children. Raids that left homes burning. Decisions that cost lives.
None of them had hurt like this.
"I only wanted to protect you," she whispered, though no one was there to hear it.
Her shoulders sagged.
For the first time that night, she let herself cry, not as the village head, not as a council elder
—but as a mother who had just been rejected by her own son.
As for Randell.
He didn't follow Cyan all the way.
He stopped just outside the tent, where the torchlight faded and the night swallowed sound. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms.
He told himself he was fine.
He swallowed once. Then again.
His throat tightened, the pressure building fast and unwelcome. He turned his face away from the tent, teeth clenched hard as his breath hitched. A sound slipped out anyway—small, broken, nothing like a sob, but close enough to shame him.
He wiped his face quickly, angry at himself.
"He didn't mean it", Randell told himself.
"He never means it."
But the words still hurt.
After a moment, he straightened, took a steadying breath, and stepped into the dark, heading home.
END OF CHAPTER 6