Chapter 4 THE OLD MAGIC

Dawn crept slowly over Ashbourne, brushing the treetops with a pale golden light. The mist clung to the earth like a second skin, muffling the sounds of the waking forest. Birds chirped softly, but even their songs seemed hesitant, as if aware of the tension strung tight in the air.

Rowan sat cross-legged in the center of her room at the lodge, a circle of protective salt and ash drawn around her. Ancient pages lay open before her-parchments aged to near brittleness, inscribed with faded runes and warnings in a language older than the trees outside. She'd retrieved them from her grandmother's hidden trunk the night before she left for Ashbourne, not knowing why she'd felt the urge. Now, she understood.

The curse didn't start with Silas.

It didn't even start with his father.

It began with a name. One buried so deep that even the witches feared to speak it aloud.

Elandra.

A name Rowan had found only once, buried beneath layers of protection and erased entries in the grimoire. A name that pulsed with power.

She reached for the vial of moon ash and poured a thin trail around the circle, whispering the invocation under her breath. The glow of the rune-stone she held pulsed faintly, responding to the magic coiling around her fingers.

Suddenly, the door creaked open.

She didn't need to look up to know it was Silas. His presence tugged at her magic like a tide.

"You shouldn't interrupt a witch mid-ritual," she said, not unkindly.

"You shouldn't leave your door unlocked," he replied.

She glanced at him. He stood in the doorway, arms folded, shirt damp from training. His hair was tousled, shadows under his eyes betraying another sleepless night.

"I was hoping you'd come," she said, gesturing to the book beside her. "I found something. About the origin of the curse."

Silas stepped inside, careful not to disturb the circle. "Go on."

Rowan pushed the book toward him. "Your family wasn't the first to bear the curse. There was a witch named Elandra-centuries ago. She fell in love with a werewolf. But when their bond was discovered, her coven cast a punishment on him... and all his descendants."

Silas's jaw clenched. "They cursed bloodlines."

"Not just yours. The curse was meant to fracture the world between witches and wolves forever. It was a warning. A barrier made of pain."

Silas looked down at the name etched in ink. "Do you think she was from your line?"

"I don't know." Rowan hesitated. "But I think that's what we need to find out."

A silence stretched between them. The weight of it wasn't heavy-it was charged, like the moment before a storm breaks. Finally, Silas spoke.

"There's an old place. Deep in the forest, past the ruins. We call it the Hollow. My father said the first Alpha was buried there. Said the ground remembers things that time forgets."

Rowan's pulse quickened. "Then that's where we go."

---

Silas frowned. "It's not safe. The Hollow is... unpredictable. No one goes there unless they have to. Some don't come back."

Rowan stood, brushing ash from her palms. "If there's a chance the answers we need are buried there, I'll take the risk. Besides..." She tilted her head at him. "You'll be with me."

He hesitated, torn between instinct and trust. But then he nodded once, sharply. "We leave at dusk."

---

The forest changed as the sun dipped behind the hills-shadows lengthened, branches creaked, and the mist thickened into a heavy veil. Silas led the way, his senses sharp, eyes scanning for danger. Rowan followed, her fingers brushing over bark and moss, feeling for remnants of old spells or protective wards.

They traveled in silence until the path narrowed into a twisted corridor of trees. The temperature dropped. The air thickened. Even the animals had gone quiet.

"This is it," Silas said, stopping before a clearing ringed with blackened stones. "The Hollow."

The ground here felt ancient-almost sentient. The trees bowed inward, as if mourning or guarding something buried deep below. At the center stood a crumbling stone pedestal, vines curling around its base. Strange symbols were carved into the surface, glowing faintly under Rowan's gaze.

She stepped forward, the runes on her skin reacting to the old magic. "It's responding to me."

Silas hovered close, his hand brushing the hilt of the blade strapped to his side. "Be careful."

Rowan knelt at the pedestal, placing her palm on the stone. "Let the past speak," she whispered, invoking a rite her ancestors had rarely used.

The wind stilled.

A low hum began, deep in the earth, rising into a chorus of whispers only she could hear. Memories, trapped in the soil, twisted into words.

Elandra. Betrayal. Blood debt. Love lost. Curse born.

Rowan gasped as a vision took her: a young witch in black robes, fire in her eyes, standing before a council of elders. A werewolf lay chained at her feet, wounded, but defiant. The council's judgment rang clear-"You have forsaken the circle. He shall suffer. And so shall all who carry his blood."

The vision shattered.

Rowan fell back, breath heaving.

Silas caught her. "What did you see?"

"She tried to protect him," Rowan said, dazed. "They called her a traitor. She begged them to spare him. They didn't listen. And the curse-it's tied to her grief, her rage."

"She didn't want this," Silas muttered. "Neither do I."

Rowan looked up at him, something burning in her chest. "Then we'll end it. We'll finish what she started."

But before she could say more, the wind changed. The trees hissed, and a shape stepped from the shadows beyond the clearing.

Gage.

His expression was cold. "You shouldn't be here."

Rowan rose to her feet, heart pounding. "We're trying to break the curse."

"You're meddling with things best left buried," Gage growled. "This place was forbidden for a reason."

Silas stepped between them. "Enough. She's trying to help."

Gage's gaze snapped to him. "And you trust her? After everything?"

"She's risked more than you know," Silas said. "And she's the only one who might actually fix this."

Gage's lips curled, but he said nothing. With one last look at Rowan, he turned and melted back into the forest.

The Hollow was still again.

Rowan stared after him. "He's going to be a problem."

Silas's jaw tightened. "He already is."

She turned to the pedestal again, now dim and lifeless. "I need time to translate what I saw. There's more buried here, I can feel it. Secrets that could undo this curse."

Silas nodded, his expression unreadable. "Then we protect this place. And we prepare."

Rowan met his eyes. "Together?"

A beat passed.

Then he said, softly, "Together."

And for the first time since returning to Ashbourne, Rowan felt something stir beneath the fear and uncertainty.

Hope.