This forest is old and ancient out here. The thick roots snake along the mossy ground and the tall, dense canopy blocks out the sun, casting the forest into darkness.
This isherdomain.
Has been since before the first stone of Moonborne Castle was laid in the dirt.
The farther I walk, the more I feel it—an awareness prickling at the back of my neck, the sense of being watched without any clear direction from which the gaze comes.
No one knows where the oracle came from or how long she’s been here. No one even knows what she is, although there are an ample amount of theories.
Some say she is a cursed queen, stripped of crown and pack. Given Immortal Sight as a punishment by the Gods.
Others think she is the last ancient being of an extinct species, one that roamed the land before wolves and humans existed.
Still others say she is the outcast daughter of the moon goddess herself, cursed to see all futures, while having none for herself.
Whatever she is, she has not changed at all since I was a pup.
Unease crawls along my goose-bumped skin when her cave comes into view. It’s half-hidden behind a curtain of hanging roots and moss, the rock face light and smooth as if polished by centuries of rain and passing hands.
I stop a few paces away, the forest unnaturally still around me, and draw a slow tentative breath. There are no birds singing here. No frogs croaking. Even the breeze is silent.
I shiver from the eery feeling creeping along my skin. The air smells different here. Like a mystical magic. Like a tingling copper scent in the back of my nose.
“Oracle,” I call out. I don’t use my deep, booming authoritative king’s voice here. The Oracle cannot be intimidated by mortal creatures. It’s best to use deference. “I have come for your guidance.”
“King Alaric of the Moonborne Wolves,” she says, her voice ringing from the forest itself, coming from every direction at once. “You may enter.”
I swallow hard as I step forward, push back the roots and moss, and step inside her cave.
The temperature drops immediately, the damp chill seeping through leather and cloth, curling into my bones. Water drips somewhere deeper inside, each sound measured and deliberate, as if the cave itself is counting to eternity.
And in this modest cave, with hastily constructed wooden furniture—a single chair, a bed with a blanket of moss, and a fire with glowing embers in the corner—stands the Oracle, watching me with bright, calculating eyes.
She’s stunning. Flawless beauty.Unnaturalbeauty.
Although we’re in a cold, dark cave, she’s lit as if the sun itself were feasting on her. Her eyes shine golden as if lit up by magic. Silky red hair falls in waves around her shoulders. Her skin and sparkling white dress are untouched by dirt, or age, or hardship. Not a single wrinkle mars her face. Not a single shadow dims her eyes.
She looks exactly as she did when I was a boy.
Exactlyalike.
I remember coming here as a young prince. My mother, with her trembling hand on my shoulder, her expression grave and fearful as she knelt before this ethereal creature who bowed to no one.
My mother whom I’ve missed so much.
The years have taken much from me. My parents. My youth. My hope.
They have taken nothing from the Oracle.
Or, that may just be appearances. Maybe the years have takeneverythingfrom her.
“I brought gifts,” I say in a shaky voice as I lay out bottles of fine wine, dried meats and fruits, candles, and swaths of the best cloth and furs in the kingdom.
I don’t know if she’ll use any of this. I don’t even know if she eats or drinks.
She doesn’t even glance at them. She never takes her cold, calculating eyes off me.
“You come alone,” she says in her soft, lyrical voice that sends shivers down my spine.
