The revelation of Mara's deception and its direct link to Rhys's rejection of her left Anya with a cold, clear focus. The shame that had clung to her like a shroud began to dissipate, replaced by a righteous indignation. It wasn't about her perceived weakness; it was about a calculated lie, and Rhys's fear-blinded judgment. The quiet determination that had sparked within her after her near-death experience now burned with a steady flame.
Morwen, observing the shift in Anya's aura, merely nodded. "Understanding the wound is the first step to healing it, little wren. But true healing requires more than just knowing the truth; it requires facing the source of the infection."
Anya spent the following days immersed in the deepest aspects of her Empathic Echo, guided by Morwen. The witch didn't simply instruct; she created scenarios, presented objects, and led Anya to places that held strong emotional imprints from the past. They visited ancient ruins, old battlegrounds, even places where joyous celebrations had once taken place. Anya learned to fine-tune her ability, distinguishing between faint echoes and resonant impressions, strengthening her control over the inflow of information.
"The lie of Mara was crafted with a powerful deception," Morwen explained, her voice low and grave. "She was cunning, skilled at masking her own scent and projecting false trails. It allowed her to escape, and to pin the blame on an innocent, leaving only confusion and fragmented memories in her wake. The fear, the chaos of the ambush, helped bury the truth even deeper."
Anya practiced on objects left behind from that very period. She touched a rusted piece of an old hunting trap, and a jumble of aggressive, cunning emotions washed over her – not the fear of the animal, but the cruel intent of the hunter who set it. She learned to sort through the noise, to pick out specific emotional signatures, like a master weaver isolating a single thread from a complex tapestry.
One afternoon, Morwen led Anya to a rarely visited part of the forest, a place that felt heavy, almost stagnant. "This," Morwen stated, pointing to a gnarled, sickly-looking tree, its bark scarred, "is where the ambush against Stonehaven began. The emotional footprint here is potent."
Anya approached cautiously, her heart pounding. The air here was thick with echoes: fear, rage, agony, but also a chilling sense of malicious glee. She pressed her hand against the rough bark of the tree. The surge of emotion was almost unbearable, making her dizzy. She saw flashes, not clear images, but raw feelings: the sharp panic of trapped wolves, the cold, calculating intent of their attackers, and then, a distinct, powerful pulse of triumphant malice, accompanied by a faint, elusive scent that seemed to shift and change, impossible to pin down, just as Morwen had described Mara's ability.
"That's her," Anya gasped, pulling her hand away, her face pale. "The shifting scent, the… cold joy. It's not my grandmother's. It's not Whisperwood's."
Morwen placed a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. "No. It is the echo of Mara. She left her true mark here, buried deep beneath the manufactured chaos. Only one with your gift, Anya, honed to such a degree, could discern it from the surrounding pain."
Anya closed her eyes, the vivid emotional imprint burning behind her lids. She could feel the lingering remnants of Rhys's father's pain, the confusion of his pack. She understood now, on a visceral level, why Rhys had reacted with such ferocity. His judgment had been clouded by a deeply ingrained trauma, a scar on his pack's very soul. It didn't excuse his actions, but it gave her a profound, heartbreaking understanding of the depth of his burden.
She spent hours at the site, focusing her Empathic Echo, not just sensing, but trying to extract, to pull out the proof. She wasn't just observing the past; she was learning to articulate its echoes, to make them undeniable.
The idea of a tangible piece of evidence began to form in her mind, something that would not just be felt, but seen or heard by others.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows, Anya felt a renewed sense of purpose. Her journey with Morwen wasn't just about her own healing and power anymore. It was about justice. Justice for her grandmother. Justice for herself. And, perhaps, a painful, necessary truth for the Alpha who had, in his fear, rejected the very solution he needed. The whispers of the past would soon be shouts.