The Lycan King’s Mark (Nevara) by Tiffanie L. Campbell novel Chapter 61

Chapter 61 – Decipher or Die Trying

Nevara

25 Ports

By morning, the storm had passed. The sky was smeared with pale gold, and the trees were dripping like they’d just been wrung out. But we were dry. Warm. Well–fed. Because I made the call.

Jones gave me a nod as he tightened his pack straps, then muttered, “Not bad. For a king fucker”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Hopkins just scoffed and shouldered his bag like he’d spent the night in a palace instead of a nylon dome on muddy ground.

“Let’s go,” I said, already walking.

The second half of the team portion was different–less physical, more mental. We opened up the day two

envelope and learned that something had been hidden somewhere in our quadrant. What exactly, they

wouldn’t say. Only that we’d need to work together to decipher a set of clues.

Clues we hadn’t even seen yet.

We hiked in tense silence, following the coordinates Kael had assigned. The woods thickened, and the

sun played tricks through the leaves. At the halfway point, a bright yellow marker came into view–tied

around a low branch beside a stump with three sealed envelopes nailed into it.

“Guess this is it,” Jones muttered, yanking his down.

I took mine and ripped the seal, eyes scanning the paper.

It didn’t make sense.

To find the key, start with the echo–where no breath dares linger, but memory clings like fog to stone.

What is lost is not alone.

What the hell?

Hopkins looked equally annoyed, squinting at his paper like it had personally insulted him. “Mine says something about following ghosts and smoke.”

Jones frowned. “Mine mentions shadows and mirrors.”

We stared at each other.

That was when it clicked.

“They gave us separate pieces,” I said slowly. “We each have part of the riddle.”

Hopkins raised an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

“Because mine is too vague on its own. But paired with yours… echo, ghosts, shadows? This is one full riddle split into three.”

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< Chapter 61 – Decipher or Die Trying

Jones whistled low. “Sneaky bastards.”

“So we put it together,” I said. “Say your clue again.”

Hopkins grumbled but read his.

Follow the path where ghosts remember. Where silence is loud, and the trees have seen too much.

Jones read his next.

Reflected in what cannot see–where shadows twist and mimic truth.

I read mine again.

+25 Points

To find the key, start with the echo–where no breath dares linger, but memory clings like fog to stone.

What is lost is not alone.

“Okay,” I said, kneeling down and laying the three papers side by side on a flat rock. “Put together, it sounds like we’re looking for some kind of… ruin? Maybe a cave? Somewhere the wind moves but breath

doesn’t. Echoes. Ghosts. Shadows. Reflection.”

“Could be an old well,” Jones suggested. “Or a mine shaft.”

“Too dangerous,” I said. “They wouldn’t send trainees into a collapsed shaft. But a ruin? A cave entrance?”

“Look,” Hopkins said, tapping the last line. “What is lost is not alone. That’s the key. Something’s down there. Not just a place–something we have to find inside it.”

“Right,” I said. “So we keep heading northwest like the coordinates suggest. If we move fast, we can hit the top of the ridge and be at the old ravine by midafternoon.”

“And if we don’t?” Jones asked.

“Then we’re camping in the dark. In a ruin. With no firewood,” I said pointedly. “And I’m not spooning anyone tonight either.”

Jones smirked. “Shame.”

Hopkins grunted, “Let’s move.”

We started off again, this time with a shared sense of direction. Begrudging teamwork. But teamwork,

nonetheless.

We were being tested.

And this time, I wasn’t going to just pass.

I was going to prove I belonged.

The terrain got rougher as we climbed. Mud sucked at our boots. Branches reached like claws. Every step reminded me why most of the dropouts didn’t even make it past day two.

Jones took point, scanning with the handheld tracker we were issued, even though it didn’t pick up much

<Chapter 61–Decipher or Die Trying

+25 Poin

but static out here. Hopkins trudged in the middle, occasionally glancing at the coordinates and mutteri under his breath about “games” and “babysitting.” I stayed in the rear, watching our trail and keeping an on the horizon. Those clouds from yesterday might have moved on, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

By early afternoon, the trees thinned just enough to offer a view of the ridge beyond the valley. And nestled into the side of that rocky slope?

Stone. Half–buried. Covered in moss.

A structure.

“Is that it?” Hopkins asked, squinting.

“Sure looks like it,” Jones replied, already adjusting course.

We descended carefully, picking our way over slick rocks and through tangled brush. When we finally reached the clearing, it became obvious that what we were looking at wasn’t just a ruin.

It was a tomb.

Stone archways jutted out of the ground like broken teeth, half–collapsed with age. Strange runes covere the face of a flat slab wall. It was eerily silent here–no birds, no wind, not even the buzz of insects.

“Creepy as hell,” Jones muttered, but his grin said he liked it.

Hopkins circled around the edge of the ruin, running a hand over the carvings. “You think this is it?”

“Let’s find out,” I said, pulling the folded clues from my pouch.

We laid them out again on a dry patch of stone and reread the riddle.

Echo, Shadows. Reflections. Ghosts. What is lost is not alone.

“That line keeps sticking with me,” I said, tapping the final sentence. “It sounds like there’s something–or someone–left behind. Something that isn’t meant to be alone.”

“A key,” Jones said. “Literal or metaphorical?”

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