The wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the scent of blood– blood of dead werewolves. We moved quietly but quickly, our senses on high alert. Clara led the way, her voice barely above a whisper as she chanted the spells that kept us hidden, though the dark werewolves were never far behind. Their constant pursuit agitated our already frayed nerves.

The woods thickened as we pushed forward, the path ahead obscured by twisted roots and low-hanging branches. I could feel the weight of exhaustion in my bones, the bruises from our earlier encounters with Eden’s forces still throbbing. Every step felt heavier, but there was no turning back now.

The witches' coven was our only hope, and we were running out of time. Ethan moved silently beside me, his eyes scanning the treeline for any sign of movement. Always calculating, always anticipating the next attack. He was a steady presence in our group, the one I could rely on to stay calm when the rest of us were on the verge of cracking. Jacob was further ahead.

The tension between him and Mascot simmered like a pot about to boil over, and I could feel it weighing on all of us. The air between them was thick with unsaid words, and I wasn’t sure how much longer they could hold back before everything exploded. As if sensing my thoughts, Mascot turned to look at me. His eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite read, and I found myself wondering again about the vision I’d seen.

Betrayal. The word echoed in my mind, and I shivered despite the heat of the night.

“We need to move faster,” Mascot muttered, his voice low but sharp. “The witches won’t wait for us.”

Jacob scoffed, the sound grating against the silence. “Maybe they won’t wait for you, but they’ll wait for her.” His eyes flicked to me, something dark and accusing lingering in his gaze. Mascot clenched his jaw, but said nothing. Instead, he pressed forward, leading us deeper into the forest.

I wanted to scream at both of them, to force them to confront whatever it was that had been festering between them since Mascot had rejoined us. But now wasn’t the time. We had dark werewolves on our trail, and we were barely keeping ahead of them as it was.

Suddenly, a rustling in the underbrush caught my attention. I froze, my hand instinctively going to the blade strapped to my waist. The others halted too, eyes scanning the shadows. A low growl echoed from the darkness.

“Here they come again,” Ethan whispered, his voice steady but grim. “We can’t outrun them this time.” I tightened my grip on my blade, my heart pounding in my chest.

These attacks were becoming more frequent, more organized. Eden wasn’t going to stop until we were all dead. The dark werewolves emerged from the shadows, their eyes glowing with an unnatural light. There were more of them this time—five, maybe six, all of them bigger and more vicious than the last group we’d encountered.

“We stand and fight,” Jacob said, his voice hard. He unsheathed his weapon, and I saw the determination in his eyes.

Mascot nodded. “No choice. We take them down quickly and move on.” The fight was brutal. The werewolves were fast, their claws slashing through the air with deadly precision. Clara kept her guard up as best as she could, but I could see the strain in her face. Seth fought alongside her, his strength keeping the creatures at bay, but even he was starting to falter under the relentless assault. Jacob and Mascot fought side by side, their earlier animosity forgotten in the heat of battle.

It was like watching two forces of death—Mascot, with his calculated, deadly strikes, and Jacob, with his raw, unbridled power. For a moment, I thought we might have the upper hand. But then, one of the werewolves got past us. It lunged at Clara, its jaws snapping inches from her face. She screamed, stumbling backward as she tried to raise a shield. Before any of us could react, Seth was there. He threw himself in front of her, taking the full brunt of the werewolf’s attack. The creature’s claws ripped through his side, and he went down with a sickening thud.

“No!” Clara cried, rushing to his side as the rest of us fought to finish off the remaining werewolves. My blood pounded in my ears, the adrenaline coursing through me as I slashed at the creatures, desperate to end the fight.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last werewolf fell. I stood over its body, panting, my blade dripping with blood. Around me, the others were similarly exhausted, their bodies battered and bruised from the fight. Seth lay on the ground, his breathing shallow. Clara knelt beside him, her hands glowing as she tried to heal his wounds. But I could see it in her eyes—he was hurt badly.

“We need to move,” Mascot said, his voice tight with urgency. “More of them will come.”

“We can’t just leave him like this,” Clara snapped, her eyes blazing. “He’ll die if we don’t help him!” Mascot’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. But then he nodded.

“Fine. But we don’t have much time.” I crouched beside Clara, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Do what you can for him. We’ll protect you.” As Clara worked to heal Seth, I felt the weight of everything pressing down on me. The visions, the constant attacks, the tension within our group. It was all too much. And through it all, Mascot’s face lingered in my mind. The betrayal the ancestors had warned me about—it could be anyone, but my heart kept circling back to him. I needed answers.

As Clara finished her healing, Seth’s breathing steadied, though he was still too weak to move on his own. Jacob and Mascot each took one of his arms, helping him to his feet.

“We need to keep moving,” Ethan said, his voice low. “The witches’ coven isn’t far, but if we’re not careful, Eden’s forces will find us before we get there.” The journey continued in tense silence, broken only by the occasional growl of a distant werewolf.

I could feel the storm approaching, the air growing thick with the promise of rain. The trees thinned as we neared the edge of the forest, and in the distance, I saw the outline of the witches’ coven, nestled between two towering cliffs. But something was wrong.

As we approached, I could see figures waiting for us at the entrance. The witches, their faces hidden beneath dark hoods, stood in a tight formation. Their eyes glowed faintly in the gathering darkness, and I could feel the power radiating from them.

“They don’t look happy to see us,” Jacob muttered under his breath. We came to a stop a few feet from the witches, our group standing in a tense semicircle. The leader of the coven, a tall woman with sharp features and eyes like ice, stepped forward. She raised a hand, and the storm seemed to still for a moment, the air heavy with magic.

“That's Lysandra, the leader of the coven.” Clara whispered behind me.

“Who dares enter our sacred ground?” she demanded, her voice cold and commanding.

“We come seeking refuge,” Mascot said, stepping forward. “We need your help to defeat Eden.” The witch’s eyes narrowed.

“You think we will help your kind? Werewolves have no place here.” I could feel the hostility rolling off her in waves, and I instinctively moved closer to Mascot, though I wasn’t sure why. There was something about this witch—something dangerous.

“We are not your enemies,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Eden is a threat to all of us. We need your magic to stop him.”

Lysandra’s gaze flicked to me, her eyes narrowing. “One of you has betrayed us before,” she said, her voice dripping with suspicion. Her eyes landed on Mascot, and my heart skipped a beat.

“What is she talking about?” I whispered, turning to Mascot. Mascot’s face was pale, his jaw clenched.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, though his eyes betrayed him. There was something he wasn’t telling me. Before I could press him further, the witch raised her hand, and the storm returned with a vengeance.

The wind howled around us, and the sky opened up in a torrent of rain. The other witches raised their arms, their eyes glowing as they prepared to attack.

Seth quickly stepped forward then, pulling the cranum from his satchel. The glowing object, now duller than before, was placed gently on the ground between us.

“Here,” he said, voice rough. “This proves we mean what we say.” Lysandra glanced at the cranum, unimpressed, before her cold gaze swept back to us.

“This artifact is powerful, yes, but it does not change the past.” “We don’t trust your kind,” she continued her voice barely audible over the storm. “And we never will.”