Page 81 of The Onyx Covenant

Theron holds my gaze for a long moment, his jaw clenched in frustration. Finally, he sighs. “If you’re not back in five minutes, I’m coming after you both.”

“How gallant,” the creature mocks. “But it doesn’t work that way. Once entered, the dream must reach its natural conclusion.”

“And how long might that take?” I ask, suddenly wary.

The creature shrugs, an oddly human gesture from something so clearly not. “Moments. Days. Years. It depends on what your friend seeks and how desperately he clings to the illusion.”

Great. I kneel beside the small pool at the tree’s roots, the silver liquid reflecting my face in rippling distortions. It smells sweet, like honeysuckle and moonflowers, with something darker beneath.

“Just find him and bring him back,” Theron says, his hand warm on my shoulder. “Don’t get… distracted. I want you back alive.”

I nod, cupping my hands and dipping them into the pool. The liquid is cool and tingles against my skin, almost vibrating with potential. Before I can reconsider, I raise my hands to my lips and drink.

The effect is immediate and overwhelming. The world dissolves around me, reality peeling away. I’m falling, floating, flying—all at once.

I see my mother as a young woman, fierce and determined, standing before the Onyx Covenant with a proposal that would unite the packs.

I see Theron as a child, watching in horror as his father slices his sister’s throat in the village square… Flashes of the atrocity pop into my vision.

I see myself growing old, wrinkled hands still performing the moon rituals, surrounded by young priestesses who hang on my every word.

None of these are my memories or experiences, yet they feel undeniably real. I struggle to maintain my sense of purpose, repeating to myself… Find Kieran. Bring him back. Don’t get lost.

The visions shift and swirl, gradually manifesting into a new scene. I’m standing in a sunlit clearing, the air warm and fragrant with summer flowers. Before me stands a small cottage, smoke curling from its chimney, the door standing invitingly open.

This must be where Kieran’s consciousness has retreated. I approach cautiously, noting details that seem strangely specific—wind chimes made of wolf teeth hanging by the door, a garden of herbs I recognize from healing rituals.

“Kieran?” I call, stopping at the threshold. “It’s Lyra. I’ve come to bring you back.”

Laughter emanates from inside, along with the clatter of cookware and the smell of something delicious. I step through the doorway into a cozy interior, where Kieran stands at a hearth, stirring something in a pot. He turns, grinning when he sees me.

“Lyra! Perfect timing. Dinner’s almost ready.”

He looks… happy. Relaxed in a way I’ve never seen him, the perpetual tension he carries completely absent from his shoulders. But what truly stops me in my tracks is the other figure in the room, setting places at a small wooden table.

“Aria?” I whisper, shock rolling through me.

My best friend looks up, her face lighting with a smile. She’s dressed differently than I’ve ever seen her—a simple linen dress in place of her usual scout leathers, her hair loose around her shoulders instead of tightly braided.

“About time you got here,” she says warmly. “We’ve been waiting ages.”

I struggle to remember that this isn’t real, that we’re still in the maze, that this domestic scene is nothing but a dream spun from Kieran’s deepest desires.

“Kieran,” I say carefully. “This isn’t real. We’re in the maze, remember? The Harvest Ritual? You drank something from a tree called the Whisper Willow, and now you’re trapped in a dream.”

His smile doesn’t falter. “Don’t be ridiculous. The ritual ended weeks ago. We decided to stay here, away from all that pack politics nonsense.” He gestures around the cottage. “This is our home now.”

“Our home?” I repeat, looking between him and the dream version of Aria.

“Of course,” dream-Aria says, moving to stand beside Kieran, her hand finding his. “After everything that happened, did you think we’d go back to the way things were? Living apart, pretending we’re enemies because of some ancient grudge?”

My heart aches at the scene before me. I understand now what the willow-woman meant—Kieran has constructed a perfect dream where he and Aria can be together, free from the complications of pack rivalry and ritual obligations.

“It’s a beautiful dream,” I say gently. “But that’s all it is, Kieran. A dream. The real Aria is still in the maze, possibly in danger. Theron is waiting for you. We need to complete the ritual.”

His expression darkens slightly. “Why? So Theron’s father can consolidate his power and continue his crusade against anyone who opposes him? To not have a choice in which Omega I want to be with? What’s the point of it all?”

“The point is to change things,” I insist. “Together. Remember? That’s why we entered the ritual in the first place. For Theron to find evidence against the Alpha, to create a new leadership.”

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