Teen Wolf: The Alternate Path - The Alpha Legacy

Chapter 2: Unravelling the Veil

I repeated the mantra like a spell: Don't get involved. Don't let him back in. Keep the distance. But every time I saw his name flash on my phone, it felt like a pulse of electricity, a current pulling me toward a place I'd vowed never to return. So, when Allison announced her plan to find him at some high school party, to discuss the bruise she and Lydia had received from the strange girl, I clutched my books a little tighter and forced myself to stay. I had my own ghosts to confront.

The ancient French texts weren't just a pastime; they were a lifeline, a map to understanding the supernatural lineage I was part of. Yet, for all their promise, they remained a puzzle I couldn't solve. The shadow council, mentioned in whispers and half-tales, seemed like a key piece of this puzzle, a connection to a past that held answers to my present. Diving into these texts each night, I sought not just knowledge but a sense of belonging, a link to a world that, while dangerous, felt increasingly like home. These were not just stories; they were a bridge to understanding my place in this ancient lineage and the responsibilities that came with it.

Staring at the ancient texts I'd read a thousand times, with no results, I gave up and called it a night.

I slipped into sleep expecting the familiar whisper of the French forest, the soft rustle of leaves underfoot. But instead, I found myself in a wine cellar—dank and suffocating. The air was thick with the musty scent of old corks and mold, the walls sweating with age. Shadows loomed around me like silent spectators, and I could hear chanting, low and guttural, in a language that seemed to twist in the air like smoke. I blinked, trying to clear my vision, but everything was blurred, as if I were looking through a pane of frosted glass. I could make out two figures, the larger of the two rushed passed me and out sight. My vision still blurred, I could only make out its silhouette, but its aura felt...familiar.

Alone now with the smaller silhouette, I closed in on them, trying to get a sense of who it might be, not recognising anything from the limited feelings I could make out from their aura, other than their purity. The chanting intensified the closer I got, blurring my vision further. What language were they chanting, all I could tell was that it was old tongue, a dialect long since forgotten. It beckoned me, beckoned me to reveal the silhouette before me, to command the shadows around it to withdraw. I instinctively pointed towards the figure, as if the decision wasn't mine to make, and uttered a single command: "dévoiler."

The shadows recoiled, twisting and writhing as they retreated from the figure. The chanting stopped abruptly, as if my command had severed the thread of sound itself. For a heartbeat, a warm, golden light—my light—bathed the figure in a soft glow, revealing the outline of delicate features and eyes that seemed both familiar and alien. But then, without warning, an all-consuming darkness surged from the walls like a tidal wave, crashing into the light with a force that sent shockwaves rippling through the air. I stumbled back, my breath hitching in my throat as the darkness swallowed everything whole, including the figure. My heart thundered in my chest, fear clawing at my throat. I shot up right in my bed, out of breath and my heart rate racing, sweat stuck to my back.

"What the hell was that?" The dream had felt so real, the cold dampness of the wine cellar seeping into my bones, the haunting chants echoing around me. Awakening from it, I was disoriented, my heart pounding as if I had been running, my sheets tangled around me like vines in that forest. The boundary between dream and reality blurred, leaving me to question if it had been merely a dream at all. This seamless transition from the ethereal to the tangible underscored the ever-thinning veil between my two worlds, a reminder of the powers I was only beginning to understand and the ancient forces at play, hidden just beneath the surface of my consciousness.

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The tense meeting at School that Lydia and Allison beckoned me to come to was just that, very tense. The tension in the air during the meeting was palpable, an undercurrent of unsaid words and unresolved conflicts. For the first time since we left, Alison had come face-to-face with Derek, who appeared to feel the same way for her as she did for him. It yielded no results, but I did pick up Derek's throw away comment to Scott. What had my mother really been up to that night?