Page 17 of Touch of Oblivion (Woven in Time #1)

Torryn

T he dragon lowers its head until its snout brushes my forehead. Its scales shimmer with silver-blue light, flickering as if lit by the stars themselves.

I don’t move.

The forest seems to hold its breath around us. No rustling leaves, no whisper of wind–just silence.

Its eyes lock with mine, endless voids that pulsate.

Behind me, I feel her.

Wren.

Not close enough to touch anymore, but near enough that I know she’s safe. Her stillness settles over me like a second skin, allowing me to focus on the ancient spirit.

The dragon doesn’t speak, but I feel its presence rolling through me as all previous spirits have.

Judging and weighing my own spirit, to see if I’m worthy of it.

The night air moves across my shoulders, cool and clean, brushing over skin still damp with sweat from the run here.

My pulse thuds steadily beneath it, slow and heavy, anchoring me in the moment.

Beneath my skin, my animal spirits begin to stir, brushing to the surface of my mind, and I watch it play out there.

Wolf first, as always. Its growl hums low in my chest, rough and approving of the dragon twisting through me.

Then the hawk, wings opening in welcome.

The bear rumbles deeply, steady and slow.

The serpent coils tighter in the quiet, watching.

The fox lifts its nose, scenting the new presence.

The mouse scurries out from the dark, greeting its new friend.

Last, the stag emerges, quickly locking eyes with the dragon. I watch an unspoken conversation flow between their eyes, before the stag inclines its head, bowing to the new spirit.

None of my spirits rise in challenge and I hold my breath at the acceptance they offer.

Now, it’s solely up to the dragon spirit to decide if I’m a worthy host.

Instinct guides me as I raise a hand, slow and careful, unsure whether it will vanish if I reach too fast.

It doesn’t pull away. Instead, it presses the side of its face into my palm. The heat of it floods through my bones like fire through stone. Its scales spark brighter, light dancing across my skin.

I feel it settling within me before I hear it.

A pressure behind the ribs. A new thrum alongside my heartbeat.

“You are not the one I initially sought.”

The words slide into me like a gentle breeze caressing my mind.

“I didn’t seek you out,” I answer in thought, the words stripped to their truth. “But I’m here if you find me worthy.”

It studies me for a moment.

“She called for me,” it says, its dark eyes briefly flickering to Wren before sliding back to mine. “But it is your soul I recognize.”

The shift begins within me as my soul makes space. The wolf lowers its head. The hawk tucks its wings. The others still, giving space.

“Your bond to her woke the earth. That is why I come.”

I can’t help but glance over my shoulder to find her, half-drenched in moonlight, her cheeks pink and her hair tangled by wind.

She doesn’t understand what she’s awoken, but I see her reverence.

My throat tightens, chest pulling taut beneath the weight of uncertainty.

How is she involved in this ?

“What are you asking of me?” I ask, needing clarity.

The dragon lowers its head again to touch mine before its words rumble deeper and louder inside of me, anchoring tightly to my soul.

“To carry me. To protect her. If she falls, so too does the world.”

The words hit hard. Not with threat, but with a purpose.

They sink deep, rooting behind my sternum like a brand carved into my soul itself.

“You are steady, loyal, and unwavering in your values. Yours is a strength the dragons can trust to not use for your own gain.”

The wind lifts again, high in the trees, a whisper through the canopy like it’s a part of the conversation.

“I will guard her with my life,” I vow.

It begins to glow brighter, but as it seeps its energy into me once more, the more faint the spirit grows before me.

I don’t fight it as it roots itself into my marrow.

Every other bond I’ve formed came through trial–a meeting of strength, of spirit, of will. Mutual recognition.

But this isn’t a trial between us, it’s a surrender of myself.

Within moments the spirit is gone from sight but is now permanently etched inside of me like a new star in the sky.

Bright and endless.

Its power lingers, unfamiliar and immense, coiling low in my chest. The other spirits shift in response, unsettled despite their acceptance. The wolf stiffens. The hawk circles inward. The bear huffs low. Even the serpent curls tighter, tension rippling along the inside of my spine.

They’re not rejecting it, but they’re wary of the new dynamic within.

It takes effort to keep them calm, to hold steady beneath the storm of change. My skin feels too tight, lungs too full, as if I’ve taken in more than this body knows how to bear.

I breathe deeply, dragging the air down into my ribs. The smell of pine, riverbeds, and the sky itself grounds me. The scent of my home.

Wren watches me in silence as I turn to face her fully.

“We’ll need to walk for a bit,” I say, my voice rougher than usual, scraped raw by the shift still happening beneath my skin. “I…can’t shift again. Not yet.”

Her brow lifts, but she nods without hesitation.

“Is it okay if I ask why? I want to understand you and the shifters as a whole.”

I tilt my head toward the trail we need to continue on and begin to move, guiding her beside me through the thinning trees.

“The dragon’s still settling,” I murmur. “The others are...adjusting and making space. They will need to establish their new hierarchy. Until that’s done, I can’t call on any of them.”

We fall into step, her heavy boots muffled against the soft forest floor. Moonlight cuts through the canopy, catching the sheen of damp leaves.

She glances at me, her expression thoughtful. “It sounds like you own many spirits. Does it feel crowded?”

A faint smile touches my lips as I glance down at her. “They’re not owned. They’re earned.”

She looks at me differently then, thoughtful and quiet.

“Shapeshifters don’t inherit forms when we’re born,” I explain, keeping my voice low. “We don’t earn them through magic. We meet them in the space between their world and ours. If the spirit sees a soul it respects, someone it can trust, it stays.”

She tilts her head. “And if it doesn’t stay?”

“Then it simply leaves,” I answer with a shrug. “Normally to never reappear again to that shifter.”

A breeze cuts through the trees, tugging at her dark hair. She brushes it behind her ear, fingers grazing her cheek. It’s a small thing, but I watch it. I watch her .

“How many have stayed for you?” she asks.

“Seven,” I say instinctively, before the dragon rears its head as a reminder. “Now eight.”

She stumbles on a root and I move before I think, steadying her with a hand at her elbow. Her skin is warm under my palm, and I note she doesn’t flinch or pull away from me.

A warm chuckle flows from her before she mumbles, “Thank you. That root jumped out at me.”

My hand slowly glides from her elbow to the tips of her fingers before I force myself to let go.

We resume our walk as I clear my throat, fighting the urge to wrap her small hand in mine as we continue. Purely to ensure she doesn’t have a chance to fall again.

“Are you king because of them?” she asks.

“I’m king because no one else has earned as many spirits, yes. In our society, we recognize the one in which the spirits do, as our leader.”

She slows, gaze drifting upward toward the break in the trees where the stars spill through. “It’s so beautiful,” she murmurs. “The way you connect with them.”

“It’s sacred,” I agree, voice rougher than I intend. Her recognition of the beauty in our bonds stirs my spirit's desire to claim her as ours, once more. “Each bond is a promise. I don’t wear them like weapons. I carry them like my pack. ”

She doesn’t speak right away. Just runs her fingers across the leaves of a bush as we pass. Always so gentle and invested in the world around her.

When she looks at me again, her voice is quiet.

“Do they ever leave you after choosing you?”

“Not once the bond is sealed,” I answer before pausing in memory of others’ stories. “But they’ll go quiet if you break their trust.”

The trees part to reveal the final field before we reach my home. The stars stretch wide over it, illuminating the grass rippling in slow waves, touched by the gentle caress of the wind.

She steps forward first, boots brushing through the tallest tufts. Her head tilts up toward the sky and it steals my breath, seeing her at one with my lands.

The words I’ve been holding back refuse to be confined any longer, tumbling out of me. “My spirits claimed you the moment I found you.”

She turns slightly toward me, curiosity sparking in her eyes.

“They felt your uncertainty and fear.” I pause, tightening my jaw before forcing the rest out. “They responded before I did.”

Her brows draw in the slightest bit, but she doesn’t interrupt, so I continue on as we walk. “To them, it wasn’t a question. You were hurt and alone. The pack protects its own. ”

A breath drifts from her lips, but still she says nothing.

“I know you didn’t ask for that,” I breathe out, remembering her words about not belonging to any of us. “You didn’t choose us, and I might’ve been too much with my instincts to protect you.”

A faint smile pulls at her lips, sad but soft. “You weren’t the worst of the kings.”

“No, maybe not, but I might’ve been overwhelming.” My voice lowers further, nearly lost to the hush of the wind. “And I’m sorry for that.”

Her gaze returns to the field, thoughtful. “You listened to me this morning as the earth was splitting open.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t easy.” I say, heart thumping at the memory. “I saw someone my pack would defend with tooth and nail possibly at risk, yet I had to accept that maybe that isn’t what you want.”

She steps closer, barely brushing my arm with hers.

“You still see me that way?” she asks. “As someone worthy of being in your pack?”

I look down at her, brushing my arm over hers in return.

“I see someone who didn’t flinch when a spirit appeared,” I murmur. “Someone who faced down four powerful kings without backing away. I see your strength and curiosity. ”

A quiet falls again, this one warmer and more intimate.

“I see someone fierce enough to survive this world, and someone kind enough to care for it and its flaws.”

I glimpse a faint smile on her face from the corner of my eye.

We walk in easy silence after that. There’s no tension, no urgency, just the slow rhythm of shared footsteps through the tall grass. I hear the rush of our river winding through the hills in the near distance as my home opens up before us.

Nestled in a valley framed by a forest on the left and the curve of the Rocky Mountains on the right, the village reveals itself.

Some dwellings are built right into the rockface, half-hidden by overhanging stone.

Smoke trails lazily from one of the dens, the scent of burning cedar weaving through the air.

Other homes are nestled between trees, woven from living branches and thatched with leaves, warm light flickering inside through wooden shutters.

In the center is a cluster of homes built sturdier from raw timber and earth.

These are for those who remain in their human forms more often than not.

The central fire pit remains unlit for now, but I can already hear the soft sounds of night movement and suspect it’ll be lit for a late night snack soon.

Wren slows beside me, eyes wide with something between wonder and disbelief. I hear her stomach grumble again and my body stiffens with the need to provide for her.

It was difficult to stop myself from hunting for her during the day as she pondered in the field. Yet it was exactly what she needed–to not have anyone provide for her, be it mentally or physically.

Perhaps she will willingly partake in a midnight snack if I bring her to the pit.

A soft breeze carries the scent of wildflowers and packed earth. She breathes it in deeply, like she’s trying to memorize it.

I lead her toward the largest of the structures first–my home. It sits atop a slightly raised ridge, built from thick cedar logs and roofed with bark and stone. It's the only one with a carved wooden door, etched with old animal sigils of those I’ve bonded with.

Symbols of trust.

She turns in a slow circle, taking it all in–the dens nestled in rock, the curved footpaths between trees, the faint glow of the moonlight caught in the high mountain mist.

She doesn’t look lost. She looks free, and that hits deeply, making something in my chest feel like it’s shifted.

A smile fills her face like she’s bursting with sudden excitement.

“You built this?” she asks before spinning around in wonder .

“The pack did. All of us.”

“It’s stunning,” she whispers so faintly that I wonder if she was talking to herself.

I feel it then, deep and wordless. A click in my chest that confirms she is pack, because she sees what we all see. Not just the wilderness that the fae would love to tame into grandeur, or the simplicity the vampires would despise, and not the open expanse the wraiths would loathe.

She sees the beauty.

And spirits help me, she’s not just starting to feel like a pack member…she’s starting to feel like mine.