Chương 6: Howlstone

Freya arrived at Howlstone, feeling nervous as Alvar in his dragon from slowly descended to the ground before gently aiding her down. Howlstone was the land of werewolves, and she was summoned here because the Alpha king required her healing abilities. Freya hoped her presence would be welcomed more warmly here, but the stern expressions on Ivan and Alvar's faces suggested otherwise before they began to issue their warnings.

"I know you are to be with the ascendants alone, but in this case, you must insist we accompany you inside. The Lycans are known for their temper and unpredictability. They are aggressive, and I don't trust them with you," Ivan stated firmly.

Before she could respond, a horde of men emerged from the woods, accompanied by large beast-like wolves with fur in shades of brown, grey, and black. The men were dressed in minimal clothing, mostly trousers only and she wondered if it was because of their shifting form. Unlike dragons, Freya knew werewolves didn't have the magic that would allow them to regain their clothes.

Ivan and Alvar positioned themselves protectively on either side of her as the group circled them. One man, in particular, stepped forward; his dark brown hair was long and damp, half-tied back with a few loose strands framing his stern face. His piercing golden eyes glinted with an intense, almost animalistic gleam. Standing as tall and formidable as the dragons, he approached with an authoritative stride, flanked by two wolves on each side.

He must be the Alpha King. The werewolf ascendant, she thought.

As he drew nearer, Alvar and Ivan tightened their formation around Freya. The Alpha scanned them briefly before his gaze settled on her. "You must be the healer," he stated plainly.

"Yes, I am Freya," she introduced herself, maintaining composure despite the tension.

He did not bother with formalities or introductions; instead, he simply gestured with a nod of his head for her to follow. Ivan and Alvar shadowed her closely as they approached a large wooden mansion nestled among the lush, green woods.

The structure was enormous, built of dark, aged wood that blended seamlessly with the natural environment. Its design was rustic yet grand, with expansive windows and towering gables that echoed the wilderness surrounding it.

Approaching the mansion's grand entrance, however, their progress was abruptly halted by vigilant guards. "Only the healer may pass," the guards told Ivan and Alvar.

Freya paused, turning to say, "They are my guards."

"No one enters but you," the guard reiterated sternly.

Alvar looked at her, his expression urging her to protest, but before

she could respond, the Alpha's deep, rumbling voice cut through the air."I need her help. No one will harm her," he declared. "Come, Freya," he then urged, his voice seemingly close enough to brush against her ear.

With a reassuring nod to Alvar and Ivan that she would be alright, Freya followed the Alpha inside the mansion. Her steps echoed softly on the polished wooden floors as she followed him through broad halls, its high ceilings supported by thick wooden beams that added a touch of sturdiness to the overall ambiance.

The air was fresh, scented subtly with the pine and earth that surrounded the estate, enhancing the feeling of being in a secluded forest retreat. Softly lit lanterns hung from the beams, casting a warm glow that accentuated the rich, dark tones of the wood.

As they progressed, the Alpha led her through a set of double doors into a more private area of the home. This part of the mansion maintained the same clean and rustic design but felt more personal and lived-in. Bookshelves filled with well-worn books lined the walls, and personal artifacts were displayed on mantels and side tables.

They continued further, and he led her into a room.

The Alpha led her into a room distinctly darker than the hallways, filled with a dense, aromatic smoke that she recognized. It was lavender and chamomile used for their soothing influence. The smoke mostly surrounded the large bed, draped with white canopy curtains.

Upon their arrival, a woman by the bed rose and drew back the curtains at a nod from the Alpha, revealing a man lying on the bed looking markedly unwell. His skin was pale, glistening faintly with sweat, his hair greasy and unkempt.

The Alpha positioned himself on the opposite side of the bed while Freya approached, her gaze fixating on the man. She had been called to heal him.

She looked around the room, two other men sitting nearby the window, looking as concerned as the woman but also watchful of her. Freya turned back to the Alpha, "What happened to him?" she inquired, meeting his golden eyes across the bed.

"He lost his mate," he responded simply, his voice tinged with a somber undertone.

Freya frowned, unfamiliar with the full implications of such a loss among werewolves. The material she had been given to study about the species here in Eldrador, had been too much to read and absorb at once. But she hadn't wanted to spend her last days with her family buried in paperwork either.

The Alpha's brow arched slightly as he recognized her confusion and added, "We only mate once in our lifetime, and such loss is extremely painful."

Freya knew she was still missing something. Yes, grief was painful, but this man was visibly sick. She looked over at the Alpha again, hoping he would offer a little more explanation.

He narrowed his eyes at her. He had such a grim look etched on his face, as if that were his natural state of being. "Shouldn't you know this?" He asked with that voice that was so dark that it sounded threatening at all times.

"I haven't had the time to familiarize myself with all species here," she admitted.

His expression remained the same but thankfully he continued to explain. "We mark each other when we mate. When our mate dies, the fading of the mark takes a toll on us. It can sometimes even kill us if we don't... wish to live," he said, his voice lowering as he glanced back at the man on the bed, a trace of sympathy briefly crossing his face. "He is grieving now, and he probably wishes for death, but we want to help him."

Acknowledging this, Freya summoned her weapon. "Scythe!" she called out, and the weapon materialized in her hand.

The room immediately erupted into growls, the men tensing, ready to defend against a perceived threat. Realizing her mistake she quickly raised her hand. "It is alright," she assured them, cursing herself for such mistake. She was so used to it but she was in a different world now where she was perceived a threat. "I need it to heal him."

The tension in the room remained palpable, including from the Alpha, who snarled, "Put that weapon down!"

"It is not only a weapon of death," she explained quickly. "The Scythe takes souls in different ways and to different places. He needs a healing of the soul."

After a tense moment, the Alpha scrutinized her once more before giving his men a nod to stand down. Freya let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Gently, she channeled the Scythe's healing power, invoking the goddess's gift to bestow healing powers upon her. With a cautious glance at the Alpha to ensure he was prepared for her next move, she raised the Scythe. She knew this could appear as if she were about to strike, so she was careful with her movement, making sure it wouldn't trigger them again.

Carefully, she positioned the tip of her scythe at the center of the man's chest, the metal barely grazing his skin. The Alpha observed with a tense wariness, his mistrust palpable but surely he knew she would gain nothing by killing a random man.

As the scythe's tip hovered just where his soul rested above his chest, the blade transformed, its silver surface turning mirror-like. In this reflective gleam, Freya glimpsed the man's memories—vivid and poignant images that swirled before her eyes. Each memory was a snapshot of love and life shared with his mate: tender moments of laughter, shared struggles that had bound them tighter, gestures of mutual respect, trust, and deep admiration. These were paired with sacrifices joyfully made, grief and strength shared and mistakes forgiven. Then, there was her death, relived from his perspective. It was painful. Heart-wrenching.

Tears welled in Freya's eyes, the emotional weight of these memories stinging sharply. She momentarily withdrew the blade, needing a breath to compose herself. Such encounters with the raw, unguarded moments of others' lives never failed to move her deeply, even though she had done it many times before.

Regaining her composure, she carefully placed the scythe's tip back in place. Closing her eyes, Freya whispered a silent plea, "O divine Scythe, who governs the cycle of life and death, lend me the essence of healing. Grant me the grace to wield your power not for ending but for mending. Let this blade, which divides the veil between realms, now serve as a pathway for restoration and peace."

With a steady hand, she now let the tip touch his chest, then gently she drew the blade slowly downward, along the midline of his chest and abdomen, in a symbolic gesture of opening him up to healing. The metal did not cut through flesh; instead, it seemed to slice through the layers of his grief and despair. She prepared herself to feel the burden of his grief and pain. For a brief moment, she would share it with him and she prepared herself for the cries that could sometimes erupt from her. She would become the gate to releasing the burden he carried.

As Freya commanded the scythe to vanish, a sudden and intense agony tore through her, a pain she had never anticipated nor experienced. It ravaged her bones and muscles with such ferocity that her knees buckled slightly under the unexpected assault.

Her chest tightened, breath escaping in a sharp gasp as if a fist had forcibly expelled the air from her lungs. The room seemed to spin around her, a dizzying whirl that threatened to pull her from reality.

Her hands instinctively reached out, searching for something to anchor her to the stability of the physical world, even as her eyes blurred with the onset of tears. The impulse to collapse was overwhelming, a desire to curl into herself and surrender to the pain that seemed to claw not just at her body, but at the very essence of her soul.

Her hands reached desperately before she felt a sturdy warm body at her side. "Bring her a chair!" The Alpha's commanding startlingly close.

Freya felt his large hands at her waist, offering support. His presence brought a small comfort as he helped stabilize her trembling form.

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