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"Who are you? And where am I?" I asked, my head still feeling lightheaded.
"You mean you don't recognize your home?" The woman stepped aside, allowing me to take in the view of the lodge from Kingsrose.
It looked the same as it always had, yet something felt different about it. Something was off about my surroundings, and it was putting me on edge.
"Why don't you step inside, Joaquin Santiago?" the woman suggested to me.
I faced her, warning bells ringing in my head. "How do you know my name?"
She chuckled softly. "I know everything. Well, my sisters and I do. I believe your mate, your chosen mate, has already had the privilege of meeting one of my sisters."
"What?" Now I was completely confused. "Just tell me who you are, and what you want from me."
"My name is Clotho, the weaver of the threads of Fate. Seer of the Past."
Clotho. I was being visited by one of the Moirai? Wait, she said Rosie met one of her sisters. Which one did she meet?
"As for why I'm here, it's because the errors of your past, and the past of your fellow pack mates who've chosen to bond with the Wolf Moon's Chosen, can affect whether or not you succeed in your war against the Fate."
"The errors of my past? What do you mean by that?" I asked.
Clotho tilted her head towards the direction to the lodge. "See for yourself."
I was skeptical to take Clotho at face value, but it wasn't as if I had other options at my disposal. It seemed that I was awake, but I wasn't in my reality or something. I was at Clotho's mercy, and if I didn't play along, there was a chance she wouldn't release whatever hold she had over me. Cautiously, I made my way to the lodge, urging my wolf to heighten our senses to detect any trace of danger.
As soon as I stepped inside, I began looking around. The lodge was deserted from the looks of things, but it also didn't look like the lodge. Not in the way he remembered from a few days ago. Everything looked newer, like the passage of time had been scrubbed clean.
"Hello?" I called out with no answer.
I didn't understand Clotho's intention. The place seemed empty, so how could I find the error of my past when there was nothing here?
"Is anyone in here?" I shouted, trying once again to see if anybody was inside.
Maybe I was like a ghost, so nobody would be able to see or hear me. Switching up my plan, I moved around the lodge in search for any signs of life. As I searched around the living and dining space, not finding a soul in sight, I was hit with the nostalgia of seeing the lodge at its newest. It reminded me of when I was a kid, and the lodge was renovated. There wasn't much happening in finding answers, but it was a pleasant trip down memory lane.
I moved towards the stairs getting ready to climb up but froze when my heightened ears picked up something. It was faint, but I could detect small whimpers coming from upstairs.
Someone was crying.
I took the stairs two at a time until I reached the second floor, which was reserved only for pack members. I slowly crept down the hall, listening intently as the sounds of crying grew louder. When I reached the door where the sobs were coming from, I froze in front of it. I knew whose door it was, and suddenly, Clotho's words made sense to me.
"You know who it is, don't you?" I was startled and whipped around to find Weaver of Thread standing right behind me. I didn't even see her coming up the stairs or sensed her presence.
"What the hell is this? Why did you bring me here?" I demanded.
Bringing a hand up, Clotho began twirling a lock of her pale moon-colored hair between her fingers. "It's as I said before, if you have any hope of succeeding, you'll need to face the errors of your past."
"And you think this is an error of my past?" I pointed with my thumb over my shoulder to the door behind me.
"Isn't it?" Clotho asked.
I didn't answer, because I knew that she knew what it was. If she brought me here, that meant she could see what was harboring inside me. The pang of guilt that festered in my heart. I thought I was done being tortured, but this was a different kind of torment. One that fed on my regrets.
"Step inside, Mr. Santiago, and face your past."
Huffing out a long breath, I turned around and reached for the doorknob. I turned it slowly and pushed the door open. I'd only been in this room a few times during my teen years, before he moved into the alpha room. Everything was plain and bare. White walls, white furnishings, and a bed with white comforters. No spec of color, or personality to show who he was. Everything was minimalistic, and I could only guess was his father's doing.
There, hunched in a corner on the other side of the room, arms crossed on his knees and his head bowed to cover his sobbing face... was Pierce. A younger version of him.
