Chapter 26: XXVI

The forest had swallowed them whole, its ancient trees towering overhead. Arthur, Matilda, and Billy trudged onward, their breaths visible in the frigid air. Uncle Horace's absence weighed heavily on their hearts.

As they walked, a figure emerged from the shadows the man in black as the night. His face bowed and hidden

"Wait," the stranger called out, his voice raw. "You must know."

Arthur exchanged a wary glance with Matilda. Who was this man, and what news did he carry?

The stranger stepped closer, his breaths ragged. "I saw it," he said. "The wolf that attacked your uncle. It's no ordinary beast."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, his fists clenched.

The stranger's gaze bore into Arthur's. "That wolf," he whispered, "it's cursed. A vengeful spirit trapped in its form. It seeks blood—human blood."

Matilda gasped, her shaking hand flying to her mouth. Billy's eyes widened, and he clutched Uncle Horace's compass as if it were a lifeline.

"Why?" Arthur demanded. "Why would such a curse exist?"

"Long ago," he said, "a sorcerer angered the spirits. He sought power beyond measure and paid the price. The curse was born—a wolf that preys on those who venture too deep into these woods."

"But why Uncle Horace?" Matilda's voice cracked.

The stranger's gaze softened. "Your uncle," he said, "was a noble soul. He protected these lands, fought against darkness. The wolf sensed that. It wanted revenge."

Arthur's anger flared. "We'll kill it," he vowed. "For Uncle Horace."

The stranger shook his head. "You can't," he said. "The curse binds it. Only one way to break it—the heart of the sorcerer who cast it."

Arthur's mind raced. "Where is this sorcerer?"

The stranger's eyes flickered toward the distant mountains. "Beyond the Whispering Peaks," he said. "But beware—the path is treacherous."

Matilda stepped forward. "We'll go," she said. "For Uncle Horace."

The stranger's words echoed in their minds as they trudged through the snow. The path grew steeper, the trees thinning out. The Whispering Peaks loomed ahead—a jagged range that seemed to touch the sky.

Arthur adjusted Uncle Horace's compass, its needle pointing resolutely toward the heart of the mountains. Matilda shivered, her breath visible in the frigid air. Billy clung to her, his eyes wide with both fear and determination.

"We're close," Arthur said, his voice steady. "The sorcerer awaits."

As they ascended, the wind howled, carrying whispers—ancient secrets, warnings, and promises. The forest below vanished, replaced by sheer cliffs and icy crags. Arthur's boots slipped on loose stones, but he pressed on, fueled by grief and rage.

Matilda stumbled, her fingers grazing the frozen ground. "Uncle Horace," she whispered. "We won't fail you."

Billy glanced back, his cheeks flushed from the cold. "What if the sorcerer is more powerful than we imagine?"

Arthur clenched his jaw. "Then we'll fight," he said. "For Uncle Horace. For all those who suffered."

At the peak, they found a cave—an entrance to the sorcerer's lair. The air grew thick, charged with magic. Arthur drew his sword, its blade shimmering in the dim light.

Inside, shadows danced on the walls. A figure awaited—a hooded man with eyes like ancient stars. His voice echoed, chilling their bones.

"Who dares seek me?" the sorcerer intoned.

Arthur rubbed Matildas back

"Speck"

"I am Matilda she said. "Neace of Uncle Horace. We demand justice."

The sorcerer's laughter echoed. "Justice?" he said. "You all have  trespassed where you shouldn't have. The wolf merely enforced the forest's laws."

Matilda's fists clenched. "Our uncle  try to protected us all," she said. "He deserved better."

The sorcerer's gaze bore into theirs. "To break the curse," he said, "you must sacrifice what you hold dear."

Billys heart raced. "What?"

"Each of you," the sorcerer said, "must give up something—a memory, a dream, a love. Only then will the wolf be freed."

Billy stepped forward. "I'll do it," he said. "A memory"

Matilda nodded. "And I," she said. "For a dream"

Arthur hesitated. "And I for love, For a chance to end this."

The sorcerer's eyes glinted. "Very well," he said. "The wolf awaits."

The Whispering Peaks stood silent, their icy slopes daunting. Arthur, Matilda, and Billy closed their eyes and thought hard on the challenges they had chosen their sacrifices heavy in their hearts.

Billy closed his eyes, remembering the warmth of gandmother at her farm house where he would sit on her lap and listen to her story's during the summers. "For you," he whispered, offering up the memory.

Matilda's sacrifice was harder. She relinquished her dream of a peaceful life, where wolves were mere legends. "For justice," she vowed.

Arthur hesitated. His love for  his late brother who had passed at a young age—the bond that had grown stronger through their adventures—was precious. He chose to give up that love, hoping it would tip the scales toward redemption.

The sorcerer nodded. "The wolf awaits," he said, leading them deeper into the peaks.

In a hidden cave, they found the wolf—a creature of gold and shadows. Its eyes held centuries of pain. As each sacrifice was offered, the wolf trembled, its form flickering.

Billy's childhood memory danced before it—the sound of Uncle Horace's stories, the crackling fire. The wolf absorbed it, its eyes briefly human.

Matilda's dream followed—the cabin by the lake, where wolves were protectors, not killers. The wolf's howl echoed her loss.

Arthur's love flowed—the wolf's curse, the blood on the snow. The wolf staggered, its form shifting.

And then, silence. The wolf collapsed, its fur fading to mist. In its place stood a woman—the sorcerer herself.

"You broke the curse," she said, her voice raw. "I sought power, but it consumed me. The wolf was my punishment."

Matilda stepped forward. "Uncle Horace?"

The woman nodded. "He defied me, protected the forest. I cursed him as a warning."

Billy's tears fell. "And now?"

The woman's eyes softened. "I'll guard these peaks," she said. "No more curses. No more bloodshed."

Arthur looked at the woman—the sorcerer, once vengeful. "Thank you," he said.

She smiled, fading into the mist. "Remember Uncle Horace," she whispered. "His sacrifice saved us all."

And so, they left the Whispering Peaks, their hearts lighter. The forest whispered its secrets, and Uncle Horace's spirit lingered—a guide, a protector.