Chapter 78 Meeting Alpha Stone 1

Chapter 78: Chapter 78 Meeting Alpha Stone 1

Talia’s POV

The doors closed behind me with a sound like thunder.

The hallway was dark and cold, and the torches on the walls flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the stone floor.

The flames were dying, like the pack itself, and like Alpha Stone’s hope. I wondered how long it had been since someone cleaned these torches, since someone cared, and since someone believed things could get better. Even the guards did not meet my eyes, because it looked like they were ashamed.

I recognized that look, because I had seen it in the mirror.

The air smelled of smoke and old wood and something else I could not name.

Guards stood on either side of the corridor, with their eyes fixed on me, and their hands resting on their weapons. They did not speak, and they did not bow. ℴ

One of them gestured for me to follow, and I walked.

My boots echoed on the stone, and the sound bounced off the walls, filling the silence. My heart was pounding, but I kept my face calm and my shoulders back.

The guard stopped in front of a large door at the end of the hallway.

The door was taller than any door I had seen in Blackmoor Valley. It was made of dark, heavy wood, and carved with symbols that seemed to hold more meaning than they showed. There were wolves in mid-howl, there were mountains reaching toward the sky, and there was a moon that seemed to glow even in the darkness.

I wondered if the symbols told the story of the Stoneclaw Pack. About their struggles, their losses, and their pride.

I wanted to ask about them, but this was not the time or place.

The wolf in the carving was mid-howl. Its mouth was open, its eyes were wide, and it looked like it was crying out for help. Or maybe it was just crying.

I understood that too.

I had howled in my head a thousand times in Cresswood, but no one ever heard. So maybe no one ever heard Stoneclaw’s howls either.

The guard pushed the door open, and it swung inward with a groan that echoed through the hallway.

Then he stepped aside, and I walked in.

The room I stepped into was large and cold.

A fire burned in a hearth at the far end, but its heat did not reach me. The walls were bare, and the floor was rough stone. At the center of the room sat a throne made of dark wood and animal bones.

And on the throne sat Alpha Stone.

He was old, much older than I expected. His hair was gray and thin, and his face was scarred by time and battles I could only imagine. His eyes were hard and cold, and they watched me with something like contempt.

He did not stand when I entered, and he did not smile.

The fire behind him cast his shadow against the wall, making him look larger than he was. His hands rested on the arms of his throne, and his fingers were thick and scarred. These were hands that had fought and killed and buried too many wolves.

I wondered how many battles he had survived, how many funerals he had attended, and how many nights he had lain awake, staring at the ceiling, and wondering if his pack would survive another winter.

I understood that kind of weight, because I had carried my own for fifteen years.

Through the storage room, the hunger, the cold, the nights I cried until I had no tears left, and the mornings I woke up and wondered why I was still breathing. I had carried all of it, and I was still standing. Not because I was strong, but because I had no choice. Alpha Stone had no choice either, and that was something I thought we shared.

I stared straight at him, and I did not look away.

"You are the Luna from Shadowfang," he said. His voice was rough, like rocks grinding together, and it echoed in the empty room.

"I am," I answered, but I did not bow.

His eyes narrowed. He studied me for a long moment, with his gaze moving across my face, my clothes, and my hands, which I had kept still at my sides.

"You are not what I expected," he said.

"What did you expect?" I asked.

"Someone weak." He leaned forward, and the bones of his throne creaked beneath him. "I expected someone who would beg, and someone I could break without even saying a word."

I held his gaze. "I do not beg."

His eyes stayed on me like he was testing me, looking for a crack, a flinch, or a sign that I was not as strong as I pretended to be, but I gave him nothing.

I had learned to hide my fear in Cresswood. I had learned to smile when I wanted to cry, and to stand when I wanted to fall. Those lessons were ugly, but they kept me alive.

His eyes narrowed further, and for a moment, I thought he might throw me out. His jaw tightened, and his hands clenched on the arms of his throne.

But he did not throw me out.

"You have courage," he said. "I will give you that."

Courage? Was that what it was? Or was it just stubbornness? Just the refusal to die, and just the refusal to let them win. I did not feel brave. I felt tired, and scared, and small, but I did not let him see that. So I lifted my chin and met his eyes. "Thank you," I said.

"But courage will not fill my people’s bellies, and courage will not bring back the wolves I have lost."

"No, it won’t," I said. "But action will."