Chapter 5 Three-Way Chess Game

The Old Forest loomed before us as dusk fell, a wall of ancient trees with trunks wider than three men standing shoulder to shoulder. Even from the edge, I could feel the magic emanating from within—old, wild power that had nothing to do with witch or werewolf craft. This was nature's own sorcery, untamed and indifferent to the concerns of mortal beings.

"We should make camp here tonight," Calder said, eyeing the darkening forest with evident caution. "Enter at first light when we can see what's coming."

I nodded, sliding from my horse's back with legs stiff from the day's hard riding. "The horses won't go in there anyway. Not in darkness."

As if confirming my words, both mounts shifted nervously, tossing their heads when the wind carried forest scents their way. They were well-trained animals, but even they recognized the dangers that might lurk among those shadows.

We established our camp efficiently, falling into roles without discussion—Calder securing the perimeter and gathering firewood while I set up a small protective circle and prepared a simple meal from our provisions. It felt surprisingly natural, this partnership born of necessity.

"I'll take first watch," Calder said as we finished the last of our food. "You need rest after yesterday's magical exertion."

I wanted to argue out of principle but couldn't deny the bone-deep exhaustion still lingering from casting the memory vision. "Wake me at midnight for my turn."

He nodded, settling against a fallen log with his blade across his knees, eyes already scanning the darkness beyond our small fire. I wrapped myself in my cloak and lay down on the opposite side of the flames, using my pack as a pillow.

Despite my exhaustion, sleep proved elusive. My mind raced with questions about what waited for us in the Ashen Valley, what this mysterious Star Fragment might be, and how it connected to the Moon Tear. Eventually, I turned to face Calder across the fire.

"What do you know about the First War?" I asked softly. "The real history, not just what's in the official records."

His amber eyes reflected the firelight as he considered my question. "Not much more than you, I imagine. Our ancestors—witches and werewolves together—fought against the vampire expansion. We were winning until..."

"Until the Great Betrayal," I finished. "But which side betrayed the other? In our histories, the werewolves turned on the witches during a crucial battle, allowing the vampires to slaughter thousands."

A muscle tightened in his jaw. "And in ours, it was witch treachery that broke our lines—a secret pact with the vampire lords to share power once the werewolves were eliminated."

I sat up, pulling my knees to my chest. "Both versions can't be true."

"Maybe neither is," he suggested. "History is written by survivors with their own agendas."

It was a surprisingly philosophical perspective from someone I'd initially dismissed as a simple warrior. "Do you think that's why the binding between us was prophesied? To uncover the truth?"

"Maybe." He poked the fire thoughtfully, sending sparks spiraling into the night sky. "Or maybe just to heal an ancient wound. Either way, something larger is at work here."

I touched the mark on my wrist, still faintly luminous in the darkness. "Do you regret it? The binding?"

His gaze lifted to meet mine, unexpectedly intense. "No." The single syllable carried a weight I wasn't prepared for. "Do you?"

I considered lying, then decided against it. "No. Though I never imagined being bound to a werewolf prince was in my future."

A hint of a smile touched his lips. "And I never thought I'd trust a witch with my life. Yet here we are."

The simple acknowledgment of trust between us felt more significant than it should have. I lay back down, strangely comforted, and finally drifted into sleep.

I dreamed of running through moonlit woods, powerful muscles carrying me effortlessly over fallen logs and streams. The sensations were foreign yet exhilarating—the rich tapestry of scents, the acute hearing that caught every rustle in the underbrush, the joy of pure physical freedom. Only when I glimpsed my reflection in a still pool did I realize I was seeing through Calder's eyes, experiencing his wolf form through our bond.

I woke at his touch on my shoulder, the boundary between dream and reality momentarily blurred.

"Calder?" I murmured, disoriented.

"Your watch," he said quietly. "Though you seemed to be enjoying your dreams."

Heat rose to my cheeks as I sat up. Had he sensed my presence in his memories? "I was... elsewhere."

"The bond is strengthening," he observed, settling into his own bedroll. "It's natural. The more time we spend together, the more our magic intertwines."

I took up position by the fire, drawing my dagger to occupy my hands. "Is that common knowledge among werewolves? The mechanics of magical bindings?"

"No." His voice was already heavy with approaching sleep. "But I've been studying the old texts since we were bound. Knowledge is power, Stargazer."

I glanced at him, surprised again by the complexity beneath his warrior exterior. "Rest," I said softly. "I'll wake you at dawn."

The night passed uneventfully, though the sounds from the forest grew stranger as the hours wore on—calls that were neither bird nor beast, rustling movements too deliberate to be wind. By the time the eastern sky began to lighten, I was more than ready to move on, despite the dangers the forest might hold.

Calder woke just before dawn, rising in one fluid motion from sleep to full alertness. Another werewolf trait I envied.

"The horses won't go with us beyond this point," he said after a quick assessment. "We'll have to secure them here and proceed on foot."

I nodded, already packing our essential supplies into smaller bags we could carry. "We'll need a concealment charm to hide them from predators."

Working together, we created a protected area for the horses with fresh water and enough grazing to last several days. I wove a subtle enchantment that would discourage both beasts and men from noticing them, while Calder added his own werewolf markers—signs that would warn any passing packs that these animals were under protection.

"Ready?" he asked as we shouldered our packs.

I took a deep breath, facing the looming forest. "As I'll ever be."

The moment we stepped beneath the ancient canopy, the world changed. Sunlight filtered through layers of leaves in strange, shifting patterns. The air hung heavy with the scent of moss and decay and something else—something older than either of our kinds.

"Stay close," Calder murmured unnecessarily. I had no intention of straying from his side in this place.

We followed what remained of the Old Forest Road—now little more than a slightly less overgrown path winding between massive trees. According to the maps, it would take us directly through the heart of the forest and out the other side in less than a day's journey. But maps didn't account for the distortions of time and space that powerful magic could create.

Hours passed in tense silence as we pushed deeper into the woods. The normal forest sounds—birds, insects, small animals—had faded away, replaced by the occasional distant crack of a branch or whisper of movement just beyond sight. More than once, I caught glimpses of shadows that moved independently of anything casting them.

"Shadow wolves," Calder confirmed when I pointed one out. "Not true wolves—more like echoes of creatures that once lived here, caught between worlds."

"Are they dangerous?"

"Only if cornered. They're more curious than aggressive." He scanned the undergrowth carefully. "It's the other forest dwellers we need to worry about."

"Such as?"

As if in answer, a high, eerie laugh echoed through the trees ahead, raising the hair on the back of my neck.

"Wood nymphs," he said grimly. "Less charming than the stories suggest."

We altered our course slightly, giving the source of the laughter a wide berth. I noticed Calder subtly shifting his stance, moving with even greater caution than before.

"You've been here before," I realized. Not a question.

He nodded without looking at me. "Once, as part of my coming-of-age trial. I was sixteen, sent to retrieve a specific flower that only grows in the center of the forest."

"Did you find it?"

A shadow crossed his face. "Yes. And lost two companions in the process. The forest doesn't give up its treasures easily."

We continued in silence after that sobering revelation. By midday, the character of the forest had changed subtly—the trees growing closer together, their trunks twisted into almost deliberate formations. Faces seemed to peer from the gnarled bark, disappearing when looked at directly.

"We're nearing the heart," Calder said quietly. "Stay alert. The rules of nature apply less and less the deeper we go."

As if to emphasize his point, I noticed a stream ahead of us flowing uphill, its waters a deeper blue than should be possible. Near it stood a circle of white mushrooms large enough to sit on, arranged with such perfect symmetry it could only be deliberate.

"Don't step in the circle," Calder warned. "And don't drink from the stream, no matter how thirsty you become."

We skirted both carefully, but as we passed the mushroom circle, a soft voice called out: "Stargazer... wolf prince... a moment of your time, if you please."

We both froze. Seated on one of the mushrooms—empty a moment before—was a small, wizened figure that resembled neither man nor woman, but something in between and beyond. Its skin was the texture of tree bark, its eyes the deep green of forest moss.

"A dryad," I breathed, recognizing the ancient forest spirit from illustrations in our clan's oldest books.

Calder's posture had turned defensive, one hand on his weapon. "We seek safe passage through your realm, elder one. We mean no harm to the forest or its dwellers."

The dryad's laugh was like leaves rustling in a breeze. "Harm? What harm could you do to what has stood since before your kinds learned to walk upright?" Its gaze shifted to me, uncomfortably penetrating. "But you bring great danger in your wake, Stargazer. The blood-drinkers seek what you seek."

My heart quickened. "The vampires are looking for the Star Fragment too?"

"Looking, finding, taking." The dryad gestured vaguely. "Time moves differently for my kind. Past, present, future—all one great cycle."

"Have they found it already?" Calder demanded. "Is that what you're saying?"

The dryad tilted its head, studying him like a curious bird. "The fragment remains where it has always been, in the heart of the First Temple. But the blood-drinkers have taken something else—something equally precious."

"The Moon Tear," I guessed. "They stole it from the werewolf fortress."

"And something more." The dryad's gaze returned to me. "Something small, vulnerable. Something that cries for its mother."

Cold dread washed through me as I understood. "The werewolf pups. They've taken children."

Calder's reaction was immediate and visceral—a low growl that seemed to emanate from the very core of his being. "When? How many?"

"Three nights past. Six little ones, taken while their guardians slept a sleep not of nature's making." The dryad plucked a piece of fungus from its seat and examined it thoughtfully. "But not just wolf cubs. The blood-drinkers are thorough in their collecting."

"Witch children too?" I whispered, horror mounting.

The dryad nodded. "Four young ones from the outer settlement of your clan. Magic still unformed, minds open and malleable."

Calder and I exchanged a stricken look. This changed everything. The theft of the Moon Tear was serious enough, but the abduction of children—our children—raised the stakes exponentially.

"Where have they taken them?" Calder asked, his voice tight with controlled rage.

"To the city of stone and blood, where the tall towers pierce the sky like teeth." The dryad gestured eastward. "Mortis Urbana, they call it now. Once it had a different name, when it stood as the capital of your united peoples."

I knew the place—a vampire stronghold that had once been the greatest city of the ancient alliance, now corrupted and twisted into something dark and terrible. It lay near the Ashen Valley, not far from the ruins of the First Temple.

"Why tell us this?" I asked the dryad. "Forest spirits rarely involve themselves in the affairs of other races."

Its moss-green eyes seemed to look through me rather than at me. "Because the balance shifts. Because what was sundered must be made whole. Because the stars themselves demand it." The dryad rose, suddenly seeming taller than before. "You may pass through my realm unhindered, Starfire Twins. But heed this warning: divided, you will fall. Only together can you face what comes."

With those cryptic words, the dryad stepped backward into the trunk of the nearest tree and vanished, leaving only a faint impression in the bark like a half-remembered face.

For a long moment, we stood in stunned silence. Then Calder turned to me, his expression harder than I'd ever seen it.

"We need to move faster. If what it said is true—"

"Children," I said, the reality still sinking in. "They've taken children from both our peoples. Why?"

"Leverage, perhaps. Or something worse." His eyes had darkened with fury. "Whatever ritual they're planning for the Blood Moon, I'd wager the children factor into it somehow."

The thought made me sick. Vampire magic at its darkest often involved sacrifice—and the younger and more innocent the sacrifice, the more powerful the result.

"We can't wait for the Blood Moon," I said decisively. "We need to reach Mortis Urbana as soon as possible."

Calder nodded grimly. "The forest path should take us out near the eastern edge of the Ashen Valley by nightfall. From there, it's less than half a day's journey to the city."

"And the First Temple? The Star Fragment?"

"The temple ruins lie in the shadow of the city. We can seek the fragment after we've confirmed the children's location." His jaw tightened. "My people come first."

"As do mine," I agreed. "But we may need the fragment to save them. If the prophecy is true—"

"Then we'll find it," he finished. "But first, we need to know exactly what we're facing."

With renewed urgency, we pushed deeper into the forest. The path grew increasingly difficult to follow, sometimes disappearing completely only to reappear yards away in an unexpected direction. More than once, we found ourselves walking in circles, ending up back at landmarks we'd passed hours before.

"The forest is playing with us," I muttered in frustration after the third such occurrence.

Calder frowned, studying the misleading path. "We need to stop following what we think is the road. The forest wants us to go another way."

"Or it doesn't want us to leave at all."

"No, the dryad granted us passage. This is... something else." He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. After a moment, his eyes snapped open. "There. Do you smell it?"

I couldn't detect anything unusual, but I trusted his enhanced senses. "What is it?"

"Ash and stone. The smell of the valley beyond the forest." He pointed at a barely visible game trail leading away from the main path. "This way."

I followed him without question, pushing through dense undergrowth that seemed to grab at our clothing and packs. The forest grew darker and more oppressive the further we went, the massive trees blocking out most of the afternoon light.

Just as I was beginning to think we'd made a terrible mistake, the undergrowth suddenly thinned, and we emerged into a small clearing dominated by a perfect circle of white stones. In the center stood a stone altar, ancient and weathered but still intact.

"A wayshrine," I breathed, recognizing the sacred site from my studies. "Built by the united clans before the First War."

Calder approached it cautiously. "These were used for communication between settlements. Some say they could transport people instantly across vast distances."

"Teleportation magic?" I examined the altar more closely. "That's beyond even the most powerful witches I know."

"Not individual magic—collective power." He traced the symbols carved into the stone. "Werewolf strength, witch incantation, combined through ritual."

I joined him, studying the faded runes that spiraled across the altar's surface. They depicted werewolves and witches with hands joined, channeling energy into a central point that then spread outward to other similar shrines.

"This could get us out of the forest," I realized. "Maybe even directly to the edge of the Ashen Valley."

Calder nodded slowly. "If we can activate it. These haven't been used in centuries."

I placed my palm against the stone, feeling for any residual magic. To my surprise, there was a faint response—a subtle warmth that pulsed against my skin.

"It's not dead," I said, excitement building. "Just dormant. We might be able to wake it."

"How? We don't have the full ritual instructions."

I thought quickly, remembering fragments of ancient texts I'd studied. "These shrines were designed to respond to the united magic of our peoples. And we..." I raised my wrist, showing the glowing binding mark. "We are literally united by magic."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "The binding could serve as a catalyst."

"Exactly. If we both channel our energy into the shrine while focusing on our destination..."

He didn't hesitate. "Let's try it."

We positioned ourselves on opposite sides of the altar, placing our marked wrists against the central symbol. I closed my eyes, focusing on the binding between us, feeling for the connection that had grown steadily stronger since the ceremony.

"Concentrate on the Ashen Valley," I murmured. "The eastern edge, where the forest meets the ash plains."

I began to whisper an incantation—not from any book or teaching, but words that rose spontaneously from some deeper knowledge, as if the binding itself were guiding me. Across from me, I heard Calder join in, his deeper voice harmonizing with mine in a language older than either of our clans.

The stone beneath our hands grew warmer, then hot. Light began to seep from the carved runes, flowing like liquid silver along the spiral patterns. The binding marks on our wrists flared in response, sending tendrils of luminescence up our arms.

Wind swirled around us, carrying whispers of voices long silent—the echoes of those who had used this shrine in ancient times. The clearing blurred, the forest seeming to fold in on itself around us.

"Don't let go," I gasped as the power built to almost unbearable intensity. "Whatever happens, keep the connection!"

The world dissolved into pure white light, a sensation of falling upward, of being unmade and remade in the space between heartbeats. For an eternal moment, I existed as pure consciousness, connected to Calder only by the thread of our binding.

Then, with jarring suddenness, solid ground materialized beneath my feet. I staggered, nearly falling, as the light receded and reality reasserted itself. Calder's hand gripped mine, steadying me as my vision cleared.

We stood on a rocky outcropping at the edge of a vast gray plain—the Ashen Valley, stretching to the horizon like a sea of desolation. Behind us, the forest loomed dark and impenetrable. Of the wayshrine, there was no sign; we had indeed been transported.

"It worked," I breathed, amazed despite myself.

Calder nodded, looking equally stunned. "That was... intense."

An understatement if ever I'd heard one. The experience had been beyond mere transportation—for those brief moments, we had existed as one consciousness, our thoughts and memories briefly intermingling. I had glimpsed fragments of his childhood, felt the weight of his responsibilities as prince, understood his deep-rooted fear of failing his people.

From his expression, I suspected he had experienced something similar with my memories. The thought was both intimate and unsettling.

"The city should be visible from higher ground," he said after a moment, tactfully changing the subject. "We need to assess what we're dealing with."

We climbed to the highest point of the outcropping, and there in the distance, perhaps five miles across the ash plain, rose the twisted spires of Mortis Urbana. Even from this distance, the vampire stronghold radiated malevolence—towers of black stone reaching toward the sky like clawed fingers, surrounded by walls that gleamed with unnatural iridescence in the late afternoon sun.

And beyond the city, barely visible in the gathering dusk, stood a single white peak—not a mountain, but a structure of impossible scale. The First Temple, ancient beyond reckoning, its uppermost spire still intact despite the centuries.

"There," Calder pointed to a plume of smoke rising from within the city walls. "That's not ordinary fire. The color is wrong."

He was right—the smoke had a purplish tinge that no natural flame would produce. Ritual fire, then, already being prepared for whatever ceremony the vampires planned for the Blood Moon.

"We need a closer look," I said, retrieving a small spyglass from my pack.

Through its lens, the city's details became clearer—the movements of figures along the walls, the strange, pulsing lights in some of the tower windows. I adjusted the focus, scanning the central courtyard visible between buildings.

What I saw made my blood run cold.

"They're building something," I reported, passing the spyglass to Calder. "A circular structure in the main square. And those cages around the perimeter..."

He looked, his expression darkening. "Holding pens. Too small to be comfortable, but large enough to contain children."

"Can you see any of them? The children?"

He adjusted the glass, scanning slowly. "No. They must be keeping them elsewhere for now. But those cages are new construction—being prepared for something specific."

The ritual. The vampire called "the Master" had said the binding between Calder and me needed to be broken before the Blood Moon. Now they had stolen the Moon Tear and taken children from both our clans. The pieces were aligning into a terrible picture.

"They're going to use the children as leverage," I said, the realization hitting me with sickening clarity. "Force us to break our binding by threatening their lives."

Calder lowered the spyglass, his expression grim. "And once the binding is broken, they'll sacrifice them anyway to prevent it from ever being reformed."

"We need a plan," I said, mind racing. "We can't simply storm the city—there are too many of them."

"No," he agreed. "But we might not have to." He pointed to the white spire of the First Temple. "If we can reach the Star Fragment first, combine its power with whatever connection remains between us and the Moon Tear..."

"We could potentially create a weapon against them," I finished. "Or at least a bargaining chip."

"Exactly. The dryad said the fragment remains in the temple. If we move quickly, we might reach it before they realize we're here."

I nodded, but something was still bothering me. "Why kidnap children from both clans? If they only wanted leverage against us specifically, taking werewolf pups would have been enough to ensure your cooperation."

Calder frowned, considering. "Unless they need the children themselves for the ritual. Young witches and werewolves, their magic still forming, would be... malleable."

The implication was horrifying. "They could be planning to corrupt the children's innate magic, use it to power whatever they're trying to achieve."

"All the more reason to move quickly." Calder stowed the spyglass and checked his weapons. "We should approach the temple from the far side, away from the city. Less chance of being spotted."

I agreed, and we began our descent from the outcropping. As we reached the edge of the ash plain, I paused, struck by the desolation before us. Nothing grew here—no plants, no trees, not even the hardiest weeds. The ground itself was dead, poisoned by whatever cataclysm had created the valley millennia ago.

"The ash absorbs sound," Calder said quietly. "We'll be able to move more silently, but so will anything hunting us. Stay alert."

We set out across the barren landscape as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the gray wasteland. The ash was fine as powder, rising in small clouds with each step despite our attempts to tread lightly. It coated our boots, our clothing, even finding its way into our mouths and noses despite the cloths we tied across our faces.

As darkness fell completely, an eerie phosphorescence became visible in the ash itself—faint blue-green light that provided just enough illumination to navigate by. It was beautiful in a haunting way, like walking through a sea of ghostly stars.

We had covered perhaps half the distance to the temple when Calder suddenly froze, raising his hand for silence. I stopped immediately, straining my senses but detecting nothing unusual.

"What is it?" I whispered after several tense moments.

"We're being watched," he murmured, barely audible. "From multiple directions."

I reached for my magic, preparing a defensive spell, but he caught my wrist, shaking his head slightly. "Not yet. Let's see what they want first."

As if in response to his words, figures began to materialize from the ash—rising up like ghosts taking form, surrounding us in a wide circle. They were humanoid but clearly not human, their bodies too thin, movements too fluid. In the phosphorescent light, their skin appeared almost translucent, their eyes large and entirely black.

"Ash Walkers," I breathed, recognizing the beings from ancient texts. "I thought they were extinct."

"Clearly not," Calder replied tensely. "Don't make any sudden moves. They're territorial but not necessarily hostile."

One of the figures—taller than the others, with elaborate markings across its chest—stepped forward. It made a series of clicking sounds that somehow formed words I could almost understand.

"It's asking why we trespass," Calder translated, surprising me with his knowledge. "They consider this valley sacred ground."

"Tell them we seek the First Temple," I said. "That we mean no disrespect to their territory."

Calder responded with his own series of clicks and whistles—an impressive display of linguistic ability I hadn't expected from him. The Ash Walker tilted its head, considering, then gestured toward the distant city with what appeared to be disgust.

"It says the blood-drinkers have defiled the sacred places," Calder translated. "That they bring corruption wherever they go."

More clicks and gestures followed, growing increasingly animated. Calder listened intently, occasionally responding with short sounds of his own.

"They know about the children," he said finally, his voice tight. "The vampires brought them through the valley two nights ago. The Ash Walkers wanted to intervene but lacked the strength to challenge so many blood-drinkers."

"Ask if the children were unharmed," I urged.

After another exchange, Calder nodded. "Alive and relatively unharmed, though frightened. The vampires are keeping them in the lower levels of the tallest tower in the city."

Hope surged within me. This was valuable intelligence—far more specific than what we'd had before. "Do they know anything about the ritual planned for the Blood Moon?"

Calder conveyed my question, listening carefully to the lengthy response. His expression grew increasingly troubled.

"They say the vampires seek to reverse the binding of worlds," he reported. "To use the children's untapped magic as... channels for something coming through from beyond the veil."

A chill ran down my spine. "Beyond what veil?"

"They don't have a direct translation, but from what I can gather... the barrier between our world and whatever dark dimension the first vampires originally came from." He continued listening, his frown deepening. "They believe the Moon Tear and Star Fragment together could either complete this ritual or prevent it entirely, depending on who wields them."

This aligned with what we'd pieced together, but hearing it confirmed made the threat feel even more immediate. If the vampires succeeded in bringing something through from their original dimension...

The lead Ash Walker made a sweeping gesture toward the temple, followed by more complex clicking.

"It says they will guide us to the temple by a hidden path," Calder translated. "One the blood-drinkers don't know about. But we must hurry—they've observed increased activity in the city today. Something is already beginning."

I looked at Calder, a silent question passing between us. Could we trust these strange beings? We had little choice.

"Tell them we accept their help with gratitude," I said.

As Calder conveyed our acceptance, the Ash Walkers rearranged themselves, forming a loose escort around us. The leader gestured for us to follow and set off at a brisk pace across the ash plain, moving not toward the obvious approach to the temple but at an angle that would take us around the back side, away from the city's direct line of sight.

We followed in tense silence, the gravity of what awaited us at the temple—and beyond it, in the vampire city—weighing heavily on us both. Children's lives hung in the balance, along with perhaps the fate of our world itself if the Ash Walkers' information was accurate.

As we walked, Calder moved closer to me, his voice pitched low enough that only I could hear.

"Whatever we find at the temple, whatever power the Star Fragment holds... be ready to use it immediately," he murmured. "I have a feeling we won't have the luxury of time to figure it out."

I nodded, acutely aware of how ill-prepared we were for what lay ahead. "Together," I reminded him, echoing the dryad's warning. "Whatever comes, we face it together."

His hand brushed mine briefly, our binding marks pulsing in unison at the contact. "Together," he agreed, and in that moment, it felt like more than just a tactical agreement.

The temple loomed closer with each step, its white stone gleaming in the eerie light of the phosphorescent ash. Whatever awaited us within those ancient walls, one thing was certain—by the time the Blood Moon rose tomorrow night, our fates would be decided, one way or another.