Girl comeback 😭😭😭😭😭😭 we need fuma's chapter
girl what if i told you that your message was what brought me back from the dead lmfao i was like i NEED to finish his arc like right neow 😭😭😭😭 anyways it's out now pls let me know how you like it hehe

#extradirty
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@inkedbysonny
Girl comeback 😭😭😭😭😭😭 we need fuma's chapter
girl what if i told you that your message was what brought me back from the dead lmfao i was like i NEED to finish his arc like right neow 😭😭😭😭 anyways it's out now pls let me know how you like it hehe
just reread the nicho and juju chapters and i just had to come here and say your writing is so good, the world building is incredible and just your brain is so powerful UGH 😭 patiently waiting on fuma’s arc even though i know it will break me 🥸 can’t wait to see how you finish things up omg
anyway ramble over luv u and ur brain you literally deserve thousands of notes
omg i love you for this seriously come here i will kiss you MUACKS on a side note i just finished fuma's arc and im planning to wrap things up with the final chapter soon so im super keen to hear your thoughts!! i luv u too MUACKS MUACKS
hi ^^ I have a question about Veilbourne!Harua ^^ you characterized him as a healer and I’ve seen other luné do the same - is it based on vibes or is that his role in the official &team lore? And if it’s based on official roles, do you know the roles of the other members?
hello thank you so much for your message! for veilbourne! harua i honestly based it on multiple things - vibes is definitely one that i took into consideration + i already had a vision of him with his mate (spoiler! for those who haven't read) to be a healer! dryad and i wanted his storyline to learn from her as a healer of the team. i actually do not know what the official roles are in the &team lore and i really should start reading the webtoon because it does seem very interesting but i definitely drew alot of inspiration from &team's wolf lore and their music videos also helped heaps.
holy i just read ur saga and i love it so much the way you write truly amazes me
thank you so much pookie these messages mean so much to me!! i honestly read back stuff in my inbox whenever i need motivation to continue writing so i'm so happy you're enjoying veilbourne saga hehe!! last part is coming up soon <3
To Love in War Is To Lose
✐ᝰ word count: 18.5k ✐ᝰ genre: fantasy, romance, angst, enemies to lovers, slow-burn, action, werewolf!fuma, half-wolf!oc, mythic war, mate bond, emotional turmoil ✐ᝰ warnings: graphic violence, blood and severe injury, ambush/combat trauma, emotional distress, war themes, strong language, jealousy, psychological conflict, identity crisis, abandonment themes, near-death experiences, prophetic visions (yuma’s arc tie-in), major character injury ✐ᝰ author’s note: omg hey... how yall doing... im sorry for the sudden hiatus. I promise i didn't forget about the saga, i've just been really busy with work and honestly fuma's arc had alot to unpack so there's just one more part left!!! there’s tension, there’s biting, there’s yelling (a LOT of yelling), and somehow… something softer underneath it all. for this arc and the final part unfortunately i don't think can be read on its own because it does reference alot of the other arcs but i promise, the other arcs are just as interesting. good luck reading this, you may need it!! ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ links to other parts of the Veilbourne saga: part 1 (jo) | part 2 (nicholas) | part 3 (k) | part 4 (euijoo) | part 5 (harua) | part 6 (yuma) | part 7 (taki) | part 8 (maki)
The forest is silent.
Not the peaceful kind of silence that comes with nightfall — but the heavy, waiting kind. The kind that presses into the bones of the earth as if the world itself is holding its breath.
Above the clearing, the Moon hangs full and luminous, bathing the ancient stones in silver. Nine wolves stand within the circle. They form a wide ring around the altar, their shadows stretching long across the frost-covered ground. The air smells faintly of pine, cold earth, and iron. Fuma stands second in the circle. The Beta’s position. He feels the weight of it in every breath. The stone altar at the centre of the clearing is older than any pack member alive. Its surface is carved with faded sigils worn smooth by centuries of ritual. Moon phases etched into its sides glow faintly under the pale light above. Generations of wolves have stood here before war. And tonight, they stand here again.
Euijoo steps forward first. The Alpha’s presence shifts the air immediately — steady, commanding, undeniable. His cloak brushes the ground as he approaches the altar, dark hair catching the silver light. In his hands rests a ceremonial blade. Not a weapon. A relic. Fuma knows the blade well. It has been passed down through Alphas for generations, used only for the oldest rites under the Moon.
The pack lowers their heads instinctively.
Fuma follows a heartbeat later, pressing his knuckles briefly into the soil. Cold earth beneath his skin. Grounding. Respectful.
Ancient instinct hums quietly in his chest.
Euijoo’s voice breaks the silence. “Moon Goddess, keeper of the tides and guardian of our kind.” The words are spoken in the old tongue — the language wolves have used for ritual long before kingdoms were built. Fuma feels it settle deep in his bones. “We stand before you tonight as your children.” The Alpha places the blade carefully upon the altar. “War approaches.”
A quiet wind moves through the clearing, rustling the trees. Somewhere behind Fuma, a wolf exhales slowly. “We ask for your blessing,” Euijoo continues. “For strength in battle. For clarity in chaos.”
His voice lowers slightly. “And for mercy.”
Fuma’s chest tightens. Because mercy is rarely something war offers. Euijoo reaches beside the altar and lifts a small wooden cage.
Inside, a white hare trembles. The creature’s red eyes reflect the moonlight. Fuma’s expression doesn’t change. He has seen this ritual before. He knows what comes next. A sacrifice is not meant as cruelty. It is an offering. A promise of loyalty written in blood.
Euijoo lifts the blade again. “For those who will fall.” The hare’s heartbeat is fast. Fuma can hear it clearly — every frantic pulse echoing in the still night. “For those who will survive.” The blade flashes silver beneath the Moon. “For the balance you ask us to protect.”
The strike is swift. Clean. Blood spills across the ancient stone. For a moment, no one moves. The scent of iron drifts through the clearing, thick and warm against the cold air.
Then Euijoo presses his palm into the blood pooled on the altar. Fuma steps forward next. The Beta’s duty. He places his hand beside the Alpha’s, fingers spreading against the warm stone. The blood seeps into the lines of his skin. Sticky. Real. A reminder of the cost of the promise they are making tonight.
The rest of the pack follows. One by one. Nine wolves bound by blood and Moonlight. When the last hand leaves the altar, Euijoo lifts his head toward the sky.
The signal. The howl begins low in his throat. Deep. Ancient. Fuma joins a heartbeat later. The sound rises from his chest instinctively, spilling into the cold air like a prayer that has existed longer than language itself. One by one the others join in. Nine voices rising toward the Moon. A vow. A warning. A promise. The forest answers in echoes. The howl stretches long into the night, reverberating through the mountains like thunder rolling across the sky. Fuma lets the sound carry everything inside him with it. The exhaustion. The fear. The pressure tightening in his chest with every passing day the war creeps closer. Because this is what wolves do.
They endure. They fight. They trust the Moon to guide them through the darkness. When the final echoes fade, silence settles back into the clearing. The ritual is complete.
The pack begins to disperse slowly, quiet murmurs replacing the sacred stillness of the moment. But Fuma remains standing beside the altar. His palm still stained with blood. His eyes still fixed on the Moon above.
Calm on the outside. Steady. Reliable. Exactly what a Beta is meant to be. But beneath the surface, his thoughts race in a hundred different directions at once. Strategies. Risks. Weaknesses. All the ways the coming war could go wrong. Fuma exhales slowly. He cannot afford to break. Not when the pack needs him steady. Not when the Alpha needs someone to hold the line beside him. So instead, he does what he always does. He carries it quietly. And when the weight becomes too much to sit still beneath, He finds other ways to release it.
Tonight will be one of those nights.
It had taken hours for the noise to fade — the clatter of weapons, the thud of bodies hitting dirt, the low rumble of arguments from war council meetings. Even now, the echoes of it linger faintly in the stone walls.
Fuma sits on the edge of his cot, elbows resting on his knees. His body aches. Not the satisfying ache of a good sparring match, not the clean burn of muscles pushed to their limit. This is deeper. A bone-deep exhaustion that settles behind his ribs and refuses to move.
The pack had returned to the den earlier that week after weeks of travelling. Any other time, it would’ve meant rest — wolves collapsing into familiar beds, laughter echoing through the halls, the warmth of home wrapping around them like a second skin.
Not this time. The war is already here.
Training began before the sun had fully risen and didn’t stop until long after it had set. Sparring matches, patrol rotations, strategy meetings. Euijoo’s voice steady and relentless the entire time, walking them through every possible outcome, every weakness the leviathians might exploit.
It wasn’t the Alpha’s fault. Euijoo carried the war on his shoulders the same way Fuma did. Still—Fuma exhales slowly, dragging a tired hand down his face. He can still hear Euijoo from earlier.
Again. Push them harder. Again. They need to be faster. Again.
Steel clashes. Bodies collide. Commands bark across the field. Fuma throws himself into it without hesitation. He always does.
If Euijoo is the Alpha who carries the war on his shoulders— Fuma is the one who makes sure the pack is ready to survive it.
“Again,” he orders.
Nicholas groans somewhere behind him. “Fuma, we’ve been at this for—”
“Again.”
The Beta doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. Nicholas sighs, pushing himself back to his feet. Across the yard, Harua is clutching his ribs after taking a hit from Taki. Yuma leans forward, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Fuma doesn’t ease up. Not on them. Not on himself. If they fall here, they get up. If their arms shake, they keep swinging. Because the leviathians won’t show mercy. So neither can he.
Training turns into strategy meetings. Maps spread across stone tables inside the den. Reports from scouts. Theories about where the leviathians might strike next.
The Alpha’s mind is moving ten steps ahead of everyone else, calculating possibilities, worst-case scenarios.
And every time Euijoo needs something, he turns to Fuma. “Thoughts?” “Adjust the patrol routes.” “We need a backup plan.” “We can’t make any mistakes.”
The Beta absorbs it all without complaint. Because that’s his role. To stand beside the Alpha and carry the weight of the pack.
By the time night finally settles over the mountains again, the wolves are exhausted. Some collapse against the den walls. Others drift toward the quieter corners, voices softer now, conversations hushed. Training bruises. Shared laughter. Small comforts. Normal things. Fuma watches it happen from across the room. K eventually disappears down the hallway, no doubt looking for someone waiting for him. Jo is speaking into his shell as always, updating his mate Syrena.
Little pockets of warmth form throughout the den. Wolves unwinding. Wolves finding comfort in each other and… their mates. Fuma stays where he is. Because while the rest of them have ways of letting the day go— He doesn’t. He can’t unload the pressure onto the pack. Not when he’s the one pushing them to their limits every day. He can’t show Euijoo the cracks forming under the surface either. The Alpha already carries enough.
So Fuma does what he always does. He keeps it contained. The storm inside his chest stays hidden beneath the calm mask of the Beta.
For a moment, Fuma sits very still. Then he stands. The movement is careful, practiced.
He pulls a dark cloak over his shoulders, fastening it loosely at the throat. The fabric is worn enough that it blends easily into the shadows of the forest outside the den. A scarf follows, wrapped high enough to hide most of his face.
Disguise first. Habit. He moves through the den quietly, footsteps silent against the stone floor. Years of training have made it second nature — slipping through corridors unnoticed, avoiding the creaking boards and loose stones that would give him away.
As he passes the main chamber, he catches a glimpse of the pack. Yuma is slumped against the wall, half asleep but smiling faintly as he listens to Euijoo speak beside him. Nicholas is stretched across the floor with a blanket thrown over his shoulders. Taki and Harua are arguing quietly about something that sounds suspiciously like training techniques.
Life. Normal, fragile life. Fuma watches them for a moment longer than he means to. They deserve this. The laughter. The warmth. The comfort of knowing someone is waiting for them at the end of the day. He turns away before the feeling in his chest grows heavier.
Outside, the night air bites immediately. Cold and sharp. The forest stretches endlessly beyond the den, branches swaying gently under the pale glow of the moon. Somewhere in the distance, an owl calls.
Fuma breathes in slowly.
The quiet settles around him like water. It doesn’t calm the storm inside his chest, but it dulls it enough that he can move. He heads toward the supply stores first.
The wooden doors creak softly as he slips inside. Rows of crates line the walls — dried meats, grain sacks, preserved fruits. Carefully rationed supplies meant to sustain the pack through the war.
Fuma moves with practiced efficiency.
A sack of grain. Two bundles of dried meat. A small crate of apples. Nothing large enough to be noticed immediately missing, but enough to feed a small family for several days. He ties everything tightly into a travel bundle and hoists it over his shoulder. The weight pulls at already tired muscles. The strain helps quiet the restlessness in his mind. Because the truth is... He doesn’t know how else to release it. He can’t take it out on the pack.
They’re already training themselves to exhaustion under his orders. He can’t speak to Euijoo. The Alpha has more than enough to worry about. And he has no one waiting for him when the night finally ends. No soft voices. No steady presence beside him in the dark. Just silence. So instead, he fixes what he can. One family at a time.
Fuma steps back into the night, the bundle of supplies slung securely across his back.
The nearby settlement isn’t far. Just beyond the forest’s edge, tucked between the hills where the war hasn’t quite reached yet.
Not yet.
He pulls the hood lower over his face and begins the long walk down the mountain path.
The moon hangs high above him, pale and watchful. Fuma doesn’t notice. He never does. Because if he did, he might realise that tonight, for the first time in his life, the Moon is watching him with particular interest.
The dwarf settlement sits low beneath the hills, half carved into stone and half built from whatever scraps the war has left behind.
Fuma reaches the outer tunnel just as the first lanterns flicker out.
He moves quickly. The bundle on his shoulder is heavier than it should be, but he ignores the protest in his muscles as he slips through the narrow alleyways between the squat stone homes. The village is silent except for the faint drip of water somewhere deeper in the tunnels. He knows the routine by now: Leave the supplies. Knock once. Disappear.
Fuma stops beside the first house and crouches, quietly setting down a sack of grain and a bundle of dried meat. His fingers move fast, practiced, untying the rope and arranging the food so it’s impossible to miss.
Then he knocks once. Sharp. Quick. And immediately slips into the shadows of a nearby wall. Moments pass. The door creaks open.
A dwarf woman steps out first, lantern shaking slightly in her grip. Her eyes scan the empty tunnel before dropping to the supplies at her feet.
She freezes. Behind her, two smaller figures push past her legs.
“Ma?” one of them whispers.
The lantern light flickers across their faces. Fuma presses himself flatter against the stone wall. Even from this distance, he can see it clearly.
Their cheeks are hollow. Their arms too thin. Traditionally, dwarves were sturdy people — broad shoulders, round bellies, strong enough to swing hammers all day in the mines. These ones look… wrong. Starved.
The woman suddenly gasps. “Oh— thank the gods,” she breathes, dropping to her knees beside the bundle. Her hands tremble as she pulls the cloth open, revealing the food inside.
The children crowd closer immediately.
“Someone heard us,” she whispers, voice cracking. “The gods heard us.”
Fuma exhales slowly. Not gods. Just a very tired wolf. He slips away before they can search the tunnels for their unseen saviour.
The next few deliveries go just as quickly. A sack outside a miner’s home. A crate beside a widow’s door. A quiet knock, a quick disappearance.
By the time the moon has shifted higher in the sky, the bundle on his shoulder has grown noticeably lighter.
Fuma pauses in the middle of the tunnel and crouches, opening the cloth sack to check the remaining supplies.
A small bundle of dried meat. A few apples. Some grain. He frowns slightly, doing the math in his head. Enough for one more household. Maybe two if he stretches it carefully.
He glances down the length of the tunnel. Most of the homes here are dark now, their lanterns dimmed as the families inside settle into sleep.
All except one. At the very end of the tunnel sits a structure that barely qualifies as a house.
Even by the village’s modest standards, it looks poorly built — uneven bricks stacked together without care, gaps between the stones where cold air slips freely through. There isn’t even a proper door, just a piece of cloth hanging across the entrance.
Fuma has passed it several times before. And every time, the same thought crosses his mind. Whoever lives there probably needs the help most.
He lifts the sack again and heads down the tunnel. The closer he gets, the worse the place looks. One of the walls is partially collapsed, leaving jagged cracks where mortar should be. The cloth covering the entrance stirs slightly in the breeze.
No light inside. No voices. Fuma pushes the fabric aside carefully and steps in. The interior is… empty. Not just quiet. Empty. No decorations. No personal belongings scattered across the floor like most homes have. No pictures. No trinkets. Nothing that suggests someone actually lives here. Just a messy pile of blankets and flattened cartons shoved into one corner to resemble a bed.
Fuma sets the supplies down beside it and begins unpacking.
The apples roll slightly across the floor. The grain sack lands with a dull thud. He pauses, glancing around again. Something about the place feels… strange. Too bare. Too temporary.
His nose wrinkles slightly.
There’s a plate sitting near the bed — if it can even be called a plate. Just a dented piece of metal with a half-eaten steak rotting on top of it. The smell is awful. Fuma grimaces. “Gods,” he mutters under his breath. “That’s been there for days.” He straightens slowly.
That’s when he notices it. The scent. Faint at first. But unmistakable.
Canine. His ears snap upright instantly. A wolf?
Fuma’s eyes narrow as he inhales again, trying to place it. It’s fresh. Very fresh. Which makes absolutely no sense. The only wolves stationed on the eastern front right now are— His thoughts cut off mid-sentence. A roar explodes behind him. It’s loud. Raw. And unmistakably a wolf.
Fuma barely has time to turn before something slams into him.
A fist connects square with his jaw. Pain bursts across his face as he staggers backward, crashing into the wall hard enough to rattle the loose bricks. “What the hell—”
Another strike comes immediately, fast and precise. He barely dodges it. The wolf in front of him moves like lightning. “Thief,” she snarls, eyes flashing in the dim light.
Fuma wipes blood from the corner of his mouth, blinking through the sudden assault.
“Thief?” he repeats incredulously.
The woman in front of him doesn’t look convinced. If anything, she looks ready to hit him again. “You picked the wrong house to rob,” she growls, shoulders tense, ready to launch another attack.
Fuma glances at the pile of food he just finished unpacking on the floor. Then back at her. Slowly, he raises both hands.
“You realise,” he says flatly, “I was literally bringing you food.”
Her eyes flick briefly toward the supplies. Then back to him. The tension in her stance doesn’t ease in the slightest.
“If that’s true,” she says coldly, “then you won’t mind explaining why you’re sneaking into people’s homes in the middle of the night.”
Fuma exhales slowly. Of all the houses in the entire village.
Of course. He ended up in the one belonging to a wolf.
The woman doesn’t lower her guard. Not even a little. She stands between Fuma and the exit now, shoulders squared, feet planted like she’s ready to lunge again if he so much as breathes wrong. Her hair is pulled back hastily, a few loose strands sticking to her forehead from sweat. Up close, he can see faint bruises along her knuckles.
Fighter. Not surprising, considering the punch she just landed.
Fuma straightens slowly, rubbing the side of his jaw. It’s already throbbing. “You punch every guest that brings you food,” he mutters, “or am I special?”
Her eyes narrow. “Don’t play dumb.”
“I’m not playing anything,” he shoots back, gesturing sharply at the supplies scattered across the floor. “You think thieves usually bring grain sacks with them?”
“I think thieves get creative when they know they’re being hunted.”
“Hunted?” Fuma scoffs. The word comes out sharper than he means it to. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Her expression darkens instantly. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you,” she snaps.
Fuma blinks. “…What?”
“Weeks,” she repeats, voice tight with frustration. “The whole village’s been whispering about some masked idiot sneaking around playing saviour in the middle of the night. Dropping food, supplies, disappearing before anyone sees his face.” She gestures accusingly toward him. “First sighting we’ve had in days and suddenly you’re in my house in the middle of the night with stolen goods.”
Fuma stares at her for a moment. Then he lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “You think I stole this?”
“You think I’m stupid?”
“I think,” Fuma says flatly, “you need to take a good look around your house before accusing people of robbing it.”
Her eyes flash. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Fuma sweeps a hand around the room. The cracked walls. The collapsing bricks. The miserable pile of blankets that barely qualifies as a bed. “There is nothing here to steal.”
The words echo through the tiny room. For a split second, silence falls between them.
“You arrogant—” “Am I wrong?”
Her jaw tightens. “You break into people’s homes,” she says through clenched teeth, “and you’re calling me arrogant?”
“I didn’t break in,” he fires back. “You don’t even have a door.”
That does it. She lunges again. Fuma barely sidesteps in time, her fist grazing past his shoulder as she pivots smoothly into another strike.
He catches her wrist before it connects. Her strength surprises him. Not brute force, but speed. Precision. Definitely trained.
“You’re insane,” she spits, trying to yank her arm free.
“And you’re violent,” he shoots back, tightening his grip just enough to stop the next punch from coming. Her eyes flick down to his hand on her wrist. Then back up. For a moment, something dangerous flickers there. “Let go,” she says quietly.
Fuma releases her immediately. She steps back, shaking out her arm, but the tension between them only thickens. “You think this is helping?” she demands.
Fuma exhales sharply. “Yes.”
Her laugh is harsh. “You sneak around handing out scraps like some kind of hero while a war is about to tear this entire continent apart.”
“Those ‘scraps’ are keeping people alive.”
“Barely.” Her voice rises now, anger sharpening every word. “What these people need isn’t midnight charity. They need structure. Strategy. Someone preparing them for what’s coming.”
Fuma stares at her like she’s grown another head. “They’re starving.”
“They’re unprepared.” “They’re hungry.” “And they’ll be dead if they don’t learn discipline before the leviathians reach these mountains.”
The room goes very still. For a moment, the only sound is their breathing. Fuma’s exhaustion suddenly burns hotter in his chest. “You think starving families are going to magically become soldiers if I stop bringing them food?” he says, voice dangerously quiet.
“I think people survive wars by being strong, not by waiting for strangers to save them.”
Fuma’s laugh this time is hollow. “So your plan is what, exactly?”
Her chin lifts. “Train them.”
He blinks. “You’re joking.”
“I’m serious.”
“These people are miners and craftsmen,” he says, incredulous. “They can barely lift a sword.”
“Then they learn.” “They’re already dying.” “And they’ll die faster if they stay weak.”
Fuma runs a hand through his hair, disbelief bleeding into anger. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re naive.”
The word lands like a slap. “Naive?” he repeats.
“Yes,” she snaps. “You think dropping off a few bags of grain is going to change anything? That kindness wins wars?”
“It keeps people alive long enough to fight them.”
“No,” she says coldly. “It teaches them to rely on someone else to save them.”
Fuma takes a step toward her. His patience is fraying fast now. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough,” she fires back. “You’re exactly the kind of person who gets people killed.” The words hit harder than the punch earlier. Something sharp flashes behind Fuma’s eyes. “You know what gets people killed?” he says quietly.
Her brow furrows. “Leaders who forget why they’re fighting in the first place.”
She scoffs. “Oh please.”
“Those ‘weak’ villagers you’re so eager to turn into soldiers?” he continues. “They’re the reason wolves like me are out there bleeding.”
Her expression flickers slightly at that. Just for a second. Then the walls snap back up. “You’re not doing them any favours.”
“And you’d rather they starve?” “I’d rather they survive the war.”
Fuma gestures toward the supplies again. “This is survival, this is charity, this is humanity.”
“This is stupidity.”
The words collide between them like sparks. They’re standing closer now without realising it. Both breathing harder. Both glaring like they’d rather throw another punch than back down. Fuma studies her properly for the first time. Tall. Lean. Muscles built from real combat, not training yard drills. There’s a small scar cutting across her eyebrow. And that scent again.
Wolf. Definitely wolf.
Which still raises a much bigger question. “What pack are you from?” he asks suddenly.
Her eyes narrow. “That’s none of your business.”
“It is if you’re living on the eastern front.”
She folds her arms, “and who are you to be asking me that? Plus I asked first.”
Fuma huffs out a breath. “This conversation is ridiculous.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
They glare at each other. The room is suddenly too small for the amount of tension sitting in it. For a moment, neither of them speaks. Fuma exhales slowly through his nose, forcing himself to rein his temper back in.
The argument had started over stolen food, somehow turned into a lecture on war strategy, and now his jaw still aches from the punch she’d landed earlier.
But something else is nagging at him now. Something sharper than irritation. He studies her again. The stance. The way her weight is balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to move. The quiet control in her breathing even after the fight. The scent still lingering faintly in the air.
Buzzing. No doubt about it.
And that—That doesn’t make sense.Fuma straightens slightly, the irritation in his posture shifting into something firmer. More controlled. “Alright,” he says, voice quieter now but carrying a different kind of authority. “Enough.”
Her brows knit together. “Enough what?”
“Enough dancing around the question.”
Her eyes narrow immediately. “What question?”
Fuma folds his arms this time. “What pack are you from?”
She doesn’t answer. Just stares at him. The silence stretches long enough that Fuma feels the first prickle of real suspicion crawl up his spine.
“The eastern front only has one wolf pack stationed here,” he continues. “Mine.”
Still nothing. Her jaw tightens slightly.
“So I’ll ask again,” he says, a little more firmly now. “What pack are you from?”
Her arms cross defensively over her chest. “That’s none of your business.” Fuma’s patience thins immediately. “It is if you’re living on territory protected by my pack.”
“And who exactly gave you authority over that?” she snaps.
He gestures vaguely toward the tunnel outside. “The beta.”
She scoffs. “And who’s this beta?”
“Me,” he says flatly, “I gave myself the authority.”
Her expression shifts for a moment. Just slightly. The sharp confidence she’d been holding onto falters — barely — like something in his tone finally landed. Fuma feels it then. That strange buzzing sensation again. It’s faint. But unmistakable. Like static under his skin. He frowns. “So, you have a name?” he presses.
She hesitates. And that hesitation is the first real crack in her armour. It’s subtle — the way her shoulders stiffen slightly, the way her gaze flicks briefly toward the doorway like she’s considering bolting.
For the first time since they started arguing, her voice comes out quieter. “…Why do you care?”
Fuma blinks. Because that wasn’t defiance. That was caution. And that strange buzzing feeling under his ribs grows a little stronger. “I care,” he says slowly, “because there are only nine wolves stationed on the eastern front.”
Her eyes flick back to his. “And you’re not one of them.”
Her posture tightens again instantly. The crack disappears. “Maybe I just don’t feel like introducing myself to random strangers who break into my house.”
“You don’t have a door,” Fuma says automatically.
“Not the point.” “It’s a very important point.”
Fuma’s irritation surges back immediately. He says sharply. “The moment I realised there was an unknown wolf living in the middle of a vulnerable civilian settlement during wartime—“
“Oh please,” she scoffs. “Spare me the heroic speech.”
“You’re dodging the question.” “You’re being nosy.”
Fuma pinches the bridge of his nose. The buzzing feeling in his chest is getting worse now. Or maybe he’s just more aware of it. Either way, it’s making his patience run dangerously thin. “Listen,” he says finally, voice dropping back into something firmer. “If you’re not willing to answer basic questions, then we have a different problem.”
Her eyes narrow. “What problem?”
“You coming with me.”
Her head tilts slightly. “…Excuse me?”
“To see the Alpha.”
She stares at him like he just suggested dragging her through the mountains by her hair. “Absolutely not.”
“It’s tradition,” Fuma says simply.
“Oh don’t start.” “Every wolf entering another pack’s territory presents themselves to the Alpha. It’s one of the oldest laws under the Moon.”
“I didn’t enter your territory.” “You’re standing in it.” “I live here.” “Without declaring yourself.” “That sounds like a you problem.”
Fuma exhales slowly. “You’re coming with me.”
“No.” “It’s not optional.”
She plants her feet stubbornly. “Try and make me.”
The challenge hangs in the air. Fuma stares at her. She stares right back. Neither of them moves. The buzzing under his skin spikes again — sharper this time, like something tugging faintly in his chest that he can’t quite place.
It’s distracting. Annoying. And incredibly inconvenient right now.
“Why are you being so difficult?” he mutters.
Her eyes flash. “Why are you?”
Fuma gestures toward the door again. “Because you’re an unidentified wolf in the middle of a war zone!”
“And you’re an overbearing idiot who thinks he runs the world!” “I never said that.” “You implied it.” “You punched me.” “You deserved it.”
Fuma stares at her. She stares back. The tension between them crackles like a live wire. And somewhere beneath all that irritation— That strange pull in his chest tightens just a little more.
The tension snaps. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a shift. A decision.
Fuma exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s counting down the last thread of patience he has left. “Alright,” he mutters.
Her brows knit. “Alright what—”
He moves. Fast. One second she’s standing there with her arms crossed, defiant and unyielding—The next, Fuma has her wrist in a firm grip, turning sharply toward the tunnel exit. “We’re not doing this all night.”
“HEY—” She yanks back immediately, digging her heels into the ground. It barely slows him. “Let go of me!”
“Walk,” Fuma says flatly, not even looking back.
“I said let go—” She twists, trying to wrench her arm free. That’s when it happens. A sharp— Crack. Not sound. Not quite touch. But something between them. It shoots up Fuma’s arm like lightning. He freezes mid-step. She does too. Both of them go still.
“…What,” she says slowly, “…was that?”
Fuma’s grip tightens instinctively. Because he felt it. He definitely felt it. And now that he’s aware of it— It’s worse. Not a single spark. A pull. Low. Persistent. Crawling under his skin like static that won’t settle.
Irritating. Distracting. Dangerous. “Nothing,” he says quickly.
She rips her arm back. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not—”
“YOU JUST—” she gestures wildly between them, “—you just zapped me!”
Fuma blinks. “I didn’t zap you.”
“You did!” “I didn’t—”
She shoves him. “STOP SPARKING ME!”
Fuma stares at her. “…Sparking you?”
“Yes!” “I am not—what does that even mean—” “Do wolves have powers now or something? Is that a thing? Because if it is, you need to STOP—”
Fuma goes very, very still. Because she said it so casually. So unknowingly. Like she doesn’t understand what she’s describing. Like she has no idea what that feeling actually is. And that— That makes something in his stomach drop. “…You feel it too,” he says slowly.
She falters. Just slightly. “Feel what?”
Fuma steps closer. Not aggressive. Not forceful. But deliberate. Focused. “Don’t play dumb.”
“I’m not—”
He grabs her shoulders. Not rough. But firm enough to stop her from bolting again. “Look at me.”
She stiffens immediately. “…Why?”
“Just—” His voice tightens. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly— She does.
Their eyes meet. And the world— Shifts. It hits harder this time. Not just a spark. A surge. Like something ancient snapping into place. Fuma’s breath stutters.
There’s pressure in his chest now. Heavy. Insistent. Pulling him forward in a way that makes no logical sense.
And then— For the first time— He hears it. Finally. A voice. Low. Steady. Unmistakable.
Mate.
Fuma’s eyes widen. His grip tightens slightly without meaning to. No. No, no, no— Absolutely not.
His gaze flicks over her face again. The stubborn set of her jaw. The defiance in her eyes. The complete and utter lack of respect she’s shown for— Everything.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he breathes.
“What?” she snaps immediately. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
His wolf is silent now. But the word echoes anyway. Mate. Fuma lets go of her like he’s been burned. Takes a step back. Then another. “This is ridiculous.”
“What is?”
He gestures vaguely at her. “You can’t be—”
“Be what?”
He cuts himself off. Runs a hand through his hair in frustration. Because there’s no way. No way the Moon would— Her. Of all wolves. Some stranger. A problem. A walking contradiction to everything he stands for. “You don’t even know basic pack law,” he mutters under his breath.
“What was that?” “You don’t respect the Moon—” “Excuse me??” “You don’t even know what you are doing here—” “I LIVE HERE—” “And you won’t even tell me your name!” “WHY DO YOU CARE SO MUCH?!”
He stops. Because he can’t say it. He absolutely cannot say it. The silence that follows is loud. Tense. Charged with something neither of them understands the full weight of yet.
“…You’re insane,” she says finally, taking a step back from him now. “Actually insane.”
“Right,” Fuma scoffs. “Because you yelling about being ‘sparked’ makes total sense.”
“IT DOES WHEN YOU’RE THE ONE DOING IT—” “I'm not doing anything!” “Then explain it!” “I can’t!” “Of course you can’t!” “Because you wouldn’t understand!” “Try me!” “No!” “Yes!” “No!” “YES—”
“ENOUGH.”
The word cuts through them both. They freeze. Because that— That wasn’t either of them. Fuma turns. Slowly.
And immediately regrets everything. He doesn’t even know when the two of the arrived.
Because the entrance to the den— Is not empty. Not even close. The entire pack is there. Watching.
Every single one of them. Half-dressed. Dishevelled. Clearly dragged out of whatever rest they were trying to get.
Yuma is leaning casually against the stone wall, arms crossed, looking far too entertained. Harua is barely holding in laughter. Nicholas looks like he’s trying to process what he’s seeing and failing. Taki just raises a brow. Jo looks between them like he’s watching a play unfold.
And right in the centre— Euijoo. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable.
Fuma blinks. Once. Twice. “…Why are you all awake?” No one answers him. Because they’re all looking at— Her. Then back at him. Then back at her. Slowly. Suspiciously.
Yuma is the first to speak. “…You disappeared in the middle of the night,” he says casually.
Fuma narrows his eyes. “And?”
“And came back with a girl.”
Fuma opens his mouth— Closes it. Opens it again. “This is not—”
“Oh my gods,” Harua whispers, eyes lighting up. “Is this happening right now?”
“It’s not happening,” Fuma says immediately.
“It’s definitely happening,” Nicholas mutters.
“We were arguing,” Fuma snaps.
Yuma tilts his head. “…You call that arguing?”
Fuma gestures wildly between them. “YES.”
The girl crosses her arms. “We were arguing.”
Yuma hums. “Looked like flirting.”
“It was NOT flirting.” “Felt like flirting.” “IT WASN’T—”
“Fuma.” Euijoo’s voice cuts in. Calm. Controlled. Dangerously neutral.
Fuma straightens instinctively. “Yes, Alpha.”
Euijoo’s gaze flicks between him and the girl. Then settles. “You want to start explaining or should I punch it out of you?”
Fuma opens his mouth.
Pauses.
Because how exactly is he supposed to say this? Oh, I found an unidentified wolf in the village who refuses to follow basic law and also I think the Moon just made her my mate.
“…She’s an unidentified wolf residing within our territory,” Fuma says finally, defaulting to professionalism. “Refused to present herself. I brought her here for—”
“She dragged me,” the girl cuts in immediately.
“I guided you.” “You grabbed me!” “You resisted.” “You kidnapped me!” “I did not—”
“Fuma.” Euijoo studies them both for a long moment. Then— very slowly— the corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. But close. “…Bring her inside,” the Alpha says.
Fuma exhales sharply. “Gladly.” He turns back to her. “Move.”
She glares at him. “Make me.”
Fuma stares right back. The tension sparks again— sharper this time. More undeniable. Neither of them acknowledges it. But the entire pack sees it. And from the way Yuma is absolutely grinning— They already know. Fuma just hasn’t accepted it yet. And she— Doesn’t even know what’s coming.
The inside of the den is warm. Too warm. The moment she steps in, it hits her—heat, scent, presence. Wolves. Everywhere.
Her shoulders tense instantly. Fuma notices. Of course he does.
“Relax,” he mutters under his breath.
“I am relaxed,” she snaps back, which—very clearly—is a lie.
Euijoo steps forward. The shift in the room is immediate. The other wolves fall quiet without being told to. Conversations die. Movement stills. Authority. Not loud. Not forced. Just… there.
The girl notices it too. Her posture changes—just slightly. Not submissive. Not respectful. But alert. Like something in her instincts is recognising something her brain hasn’t caught up to yet.
Euijoo’s gaze settles on her. Calm. Assessing. “Let’s try this again,” he says evenly. “Name.”
She hesitates.
Fuma watches the moment closely—the way her jaw tightens, the way her fingers curl slightly at her sides. Defensive. Cornered. “…Why?” she asks.
Fuma exhales sharply. “Are you serious—”
“Fuma.”
Euijoo doesn’t raise his voice. But that’s enough. Fuma shuts up. Barely. The Alpha’s attention doesn’t waver from her.
“Because you’re in my territory,” Euijoo says. “Surrounded by my pack. And because I’m asking.”
The weight of it presses into the room. Not forceful. But undeniable. She swallows. “…I don’t see why that matters.”
“It matters,” Fuma cuts in immediately, irritation flaring again, “because you’re a wolf who doesn’t even know basic—”
“I said I don’t—”
“Fuma.” Again. Silence.
Euijoo watches her carefully. Then tilts his head slightly. “You don’t know pack law.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement.
Her expression flickers. Just for a second. “…No,” she says, slower this time. “I don’t.”
A pause. Longer this time. Because that— That doesn’t make sense. Fuma frowns immediately. “That’s not possible.”
She scoffs. “Oh my god, not this again—”
“All wolves know pack law.” “Well clearly I don’t.” “That’s not how it works.” “That sounds like a you problem.”
“It’s not a—” Fuma stops himself, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re a wolf.”
“Congratulations,” she says flatly. “You’ve got eyes.”
“Then how do you not—”
“I said I don’t know!” Her voice rises slightly. Sharp. Frustrated.
The room stills again.
Euijoo watches her closely. Really watches her this time. The tension in her shoulders. The way her breathing is just slightly uneven. The anger. But underneath that— Something else. Confusion. Fear. “…Start from the beginning,” he says quietly.
She stiffens. “I already—”
“From the beginning.” There’s something in his tone this time. Not force. Not quite. But enough. Enough that it presses against her instincts in a way she can’t ignore.
Her gaze drops for half a second. Then— “…I didn’t know,” she mutters.
“That I was a wolf.” She huffs out a breath, running a hand through her hair.
“I didn’t know,” she repeats, louder now, defensive again. “I grew up human, okay? I lived with my dad. There was no—” she gestures vaguely, “—this. No wolves. No ‘Moon bullshit’. No whatever the fuck he keeps talking about—”
“It’s not—” Fuma starts.
“Fuma.”
He snaps his mouth shut again, jaw tight. Barely containing it. She keeps going, words coming faster now. “Then a few weeks ago—full moon, I guess?” she says bitterly. “I don’t know. I blacked out. Woke up covered in dirt, halfway outside the village, with blood in my mouth and no idea what the hell happened.”
The room is completely silent now. No one interrupts her. No one moves.
“I thought I was losing my mind,” she continues, voice tighter now. “Then it kept happening. The strength, the… instincts—” she clenches her fists unconsciously. “I can’t control it properly. Everything feels too loud, too sharp. And don’t even get me started on the food—”
Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “I tried eating normal food and it just—didn’t work. But raw meat?” she laughs once, humourless. “Apparently that’s fine now.”
Fuma’s irritation flickers— But something else slips in beneath it.
Recognition.
She keeps talking. Faster now. Like if she stops, she might actually have to process what she’s saying.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admits, quieter this time. “And then he shows up—” she jabs a finger at Fuma, “—breaking into my house, talking about ancient laws and the Moon like I’m supposed to just magically understand it—”
“I didn’t break in,” Fuma snaps immediately. “You don’t have a door—”
“NOT THE POINT.” “It’s a very relevant point—” “YOU’RE IRRELEVANT.” “I am literally the Beta—”
“ENOUGH.”
Euijoo’s voice cuts through them both. Sharp this time. They both fall silent. Breathing a little heavier. Still glaring at each other. Euijoo exhales slowly, rubbing his temple for a brief second before looking back at her. “…You shifted for the first time recently,” he says.
She nods stiffly.
“And you’ve had no guidance since.”“Clearly.”
Another pause. Euijoo processes it. Quickly. Efficiently. Because this— This is new. A wolf raised entirely outside of pack structure. No training. No knowledge. No control. Dangerous. Not malicious. But dangerous.
“She’s untrained,” Fuma says flatly. “Unregistered. No understanding of pack law—”
“I get it,” she snaps. “You think I’m a problem.”
“I didn’t say that.” “You implied it.” “Because you are—” “Oh my—” “And you’re in the middle of a war zone—”
“Speaking of which,” she cuts in sharply, eyes flashing, “what exactly are you all doing about that?”
Fuma frowns. “What?”
“The war,” she says, like it’s obvious. “The Shattersea war? Leviathians? Ring a bell?”
The room shifts again. Because now— Now she’s hit something real.
“I’ve been hearing about attacks,” she continues. “Villages going missing. People disappearing. And you’re telling me this—” she gestures around the den, “—is the pack that’s supposed to be protecting this territory?”
Fuma goes very still. “Watch yourself,” he says quietly. She doesn’t stop. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re doing nothing.”
That does it. Fuma steps forward. Fast. The air shifts instantly. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know enough—” “No, you don’t.” “I’ve seen what’s happening—” “You’ve seen a fraction of it.” “And what, that excuses—” “We’ve been fighting this war for months.”
His voice isn’t loud. But it’s sharp. Cutting. Every word lands heavy.
“You think we’re doing nothing?” he continues. “We’ve lost people. We’ve been tracking, hunting, trying to stop something that doesn’t even fight fair—”
“Then clearly you’re not doing a good job—”
“Watch it.”
“Or what?” The tension snaps again.
Violent. Unstable. Fuma’s control—usually so tight—is slipping. And everyone sees it.
Because this— This is not how Fuma acts. Ever. He’s calm. Calculated. Controlled. Always. Except now.
Now he looks like he’s one word away from snapping completely. “You don’t get to walk in here,” he says, voice low, “with no understanding of what we’ve been dealing with—and start talking like you know better.”
“And you don’t get to act like you own everything,” she fires back. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through—”
“And you don’t know what we’ve been through—” “At least I’m not pretending everything’s under control—” “WE ARE NOT PRETENDING—”
“ENOUGH.” Euijoo steps forward this time.
Physically. Placing himself between them. That alone is enough to stop it.
The room falls silent again. Heavy. Charged. Euijoo looks at Fuma first. Really looks at him. There’s something new there. Something he hasn’t seen before. Then he looks at her. Then back at Fuma.
And slowly— Very slowly— Understanding starts to settle in. “…Interesting,” he murmurs.
Fuma stiffens. “Euijoo—” Euijoo lifts a hand. Stops him. The tension. The pull. The way neither of them can seem to disengage from the other. Even when they clearly want to. “…We’ll deal with the rest later,” Euijoo says finally. Then, to her— “You’ll stay here tonight.”
She scoffs immediately. “That’s not—”
“It’s not a request.”
The words land heavier this time. Alpha authority. She freezes. Just for a second. Then looks away, jaw tight. “…Fine.”
Euijoo nods once. Then turns. “Everyone else—rest. Training continues at first light.” There’s hesitation. Curiosity. Very obvious curiosity. But no one argues.
One by one, the pack begins to disperse again. Though not without glances. Looks. Very pointed looks at Fuma. Who is still standing there. Tense. Rigid. Trying very hard to ignore the fact that his entire world just shifted in the span of ten minutes.
And across from him— She’s still glaring at him. Arms crossed. Equally stubborn. Equally unwilling to back down. The bond hums between them. Unspoken. Unacknowledged. But very, very real.
The morning comes too fast. She doesn’t realise where she is at first. The bed is too soft. The blankets too warm. The air too… quiet. No dripping tunnels. No cold stone digging into her spine. No hunger gnawing at her ribs. Just warmth. Comfort. Safety. It makes her frown.
A howl splits through the den. Deep. Commanding. It vibrates through the walls, through the floor, through her bones.
She jolts upright. “What the—” Another howl answers. Then another. A chorus. Wolves calling to each other like the sun itself had summoned them. She groans, dragging a hand down her face. “You have got to be kidding me…”
She swings her legs off the bed, immediately regretting everything. Her body aches in places she didn’t know existed. Muscles tight. Shoulders sore. Her jaw still a little tender from last night. “…I slept too well,” she mutters, wiping at the corner of her mouth—then freezing.
Drool.
“Great.”
She barely has time to process anything before she’s being dragged—physically dragged—onto the training grounds.
The sky is barely awake. Pale blue bleeding into grey. The sun not even fully risen yet.
She squints. “This is illegal.”
No one listens. Of course they don’t. Because standing at the front of the field— Is him. Fuma. Her eyes narrow instantly. Her mood? Ruined. Her day? Already terrible. Her arch nemesis? Apparently in charge.
“Line up,” Fuma calls, voice sharp, controlled.
She crosses her arms instead. He notices immediately. Of course he does.
His gaze snaps to her like a blade. “You slept well,” he says flatly. “Want to wipe off your drool and stop yawning?”
She yawns louder. Deliberately. Just to spite him. “Bite me.”
A few wolves nearby choke on their laughter.
Fuma’s jaw tightens. “Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath.
Training starts. And it is brutal. They don’t ease her into it. No warm-up, no gentle introductions. Just straight into drills like she’s been part of this pack her whole life.
She stumbles through the first few movements, adjusting, learning. Her body wants to move a certain way—faster, sharper—but her mind lags behind, trying to catch up. It’s frustrating. Annoying and yet, exhilarating.
“Alright, let’s pair up.” Fuma orders.
She barely has time to react before someone steps in front of her. A boy—no, a man—with an easy smile and eyes that look like he knows far too much. “Hey,” he says, like they’re meeting at a café instead of a battlefield. “I’m Yuma.”
She eyes him suspiciously. “…Amaris.” The name slips out before she can stop it. He grins like he just won something.
“Nice to finally meet you properly.” “I wish I could say the same.”
“If you have beef with Fuma, you do you. The rest of us won’t make you wake up at the crack of dawn.” he says lightly.
She narrows her eyes. “That’s not as comforting as you think it is.”
“You’re right. Because Euijoo would drag you out of bed to train. Maki would wake you up with his yapping. Nicholas is always complaining about something and Taki is always in the workshop working on weapons so it’s always noisy.”
They start sparring. And immediately— Amaris realises something. He’s holding back. “Don’t,” she snaps, swinging at him.
Yuma dodges easily. “Don’t what?”
“That,” she says, gesturing vaguely. “Whatever that is. Fight properly.”
He studies her for a second. Then shrugs. “Alright.” The next hit comes faster. Sharper. Amaris barely blocks it. Her grin spreads. “Better.”
“How—“ Yuma throws a bunch in between defending himself, “How do you know how to fight?”
“Did some boxing with my dad.” She says simply.
“Oh.” Yuma blocks her fist, “Were you close? Isn’t he worried for you?”
The silence is enough to answer him. “Well, our parents leave us wolves to fend for ourselves at an early age, so I get it.” Yuma continues. “We rely more on the moon goddess for guidance.”
“What’s up with that? Like it’s some sort of religion?” Amaris barely has time to wipe off her sweat before Yuma tries to sweep her legs. “Is she Jesus to you guys?”
Yuma laughs, not offended in the slightest but instead explaining as kindly as possible. “You can say that I guess. Our goddess speaks to us— well, not verbally but she shows us signs. She’s been helping us for this war. I mean, she brought us Nova— that’s Euijoo’s mate— possibly the world’s most powerful warlock, and now we have her helping us in the war.”
He twists her arms behind her and his other arms wraps around her neck in a headlock, “She also matched Jo with Syrena who’s a Siren and helping us with the war. She brought Maki’s mate, Sage and now they’re both working together to help in the war. Taki’s mate— Onyx and her pack are also prepping for this war.”
Amaris elbows Yuma in the stomach, immediately bending over and shifting her weight to get out of his headlock. “So you guys have been prepping for the war..” She feels a drop in her stomach, replaying the stuff she said to Fuma last night.
“Prepping? Amaris, we’ve been in it.” Yuma brushes his hair back, sweat forming on his forehead. “I can’t tell you how many near death experiences we’ve had over the past few months. We’ve only got back here earlier this week and we’re training as hard as we can because we don’t know when the leviathians will strike again. And we want to be ready.”
“Is that why that Fuma guy is so uptight?”
“He has a big role to play in this as the beta so I’m sure he’s stressed out. We have the duty to be in charge of any new wolves entering our town so you can imagine the thoughts running through his head when he saw you.”
“Right…” Amaris nods slowly, clearly not knowing what was going through Fuma’s head. “Something about the moon or its goddess.”
She manages to tackle Yuma but he dodges her blow, “If Fuma is so stressed, why doesn’t he talk to his mate about it— oh my god, do you reckon I’ll get a mate? Wait, how do I even know if I’ve met him? Holy shit, what if it’s a fairy or some— or like a dragon?”
Yuma can only chuckle at her questions but he smirks knowingly, “As far as I know? Fuma probably has met his mate, he just can’t accept it or talk to her about it.”
“He deserves someone as uptight as he is. Your goddess better find someone that makes him annoyed as much as he pisses me off.”
“Oh I’m sure she has.” Yuma slithers out of Amaris’ tackle, “But you know, if you have that many questions, you can speak to the goddess. We have a prayer ground dedicated to her. She might not respond but never hurts to try.”
Somewhere across the field— Fuma is losing his mind. Not visibly. Never visibly. But internally? Chaos.
He’s sparring with Euijoo, moving on instinct, blocking, striking—and getting hit. Again. And again.
“I swear if you’re making it easy for me…” Euijoo mutters, landing another clean hit to his side.
Fuma exhales sharply, resetting his stance. “I am focused.”
“You’re staring.” “I’m not—”
He glances. Just for a second.
Amaris ducks under Yuma’s strike, pivots, lands a hit that almost knocks him off balance. She’s laughing. Laughing. He didn’t even know that creature was capable of laughing.
He freezes. Just for half a second. It’s enough. Euijoo’s fist connects with his jaw. Hard. Fuma stumbles back. The world tilts—and snaps back into place.
“Let’s go again.” Euijoo says calmly, like he didn’t just rock his beta’s entire existence.
Fuma wipes the blood from his lip. Annoyed. At himself. At her. At everything. He shouldn’t be noticing this. Shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t— But he does.
He notices the way she moves. Not trained like them—but not unskilled either. Raw. Unrefined. Built from survival, not discipline. He notices the way she adapts. Fast. Learns faster. He notices the way she talks. Loud. Unfiltered. Unafraid. He notices— Everything. And he hates it. He hates that the Moon would do this.
Pair him with someone who— Doesn’t believe. Doesn’t know. Or doesn’t care? His chest tightens. That damn pull again. Stronger now. Persistent. Unavoidable.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Euijoo calls finally.
The wolves slow. Stop. Breathe.
“Break. Go get some food in you.”
Relief ripples through the group. Amaris drops onto the ground immediately.
“Finally.” Yuma laughs, offering her a hand. She takes it without thinking. Across the field— Fuma sees it. His grip tightens. Euijoo sees that too. Of course he does. The alpha steps forward, shoving Fuma lightly in the chest. “Walk with me.”
Fuma doesn’t argue. They move away from the others, toward the edge of the clearing. For a moment, neither speaks.
“You’re distracted,” Euijoo says.
“I’m not.” “You are.” “I said—” “She’s your mate.”
Fuma stops. Silence. The word sits between them. Heavy. Unavoidable.
“Yeah and what about it?” Fuma says tightly.
Euijoo watches him for a moment. “You don’t like it.”
“No.” “That’s obvious.”
Fuma exhales sharply. “Look, she doesn’t know anything. Not about the Moon. Not about pack law. Not about—anything.”
“She’s new.” “She’s reckless.” “She’s learning.” “She’s infuriating.”
Euijoo huffs out a quiet laugh. “There it is.”
Fuma glares at him. “This isn’t funny.”
“No,” Euijoo agrees. “It’s not.”
His tone softens slightly. “But mates aren’t always what you expect. You know this better than anyone.”
Fuma looks away. “I don’t want this.” The admission is quiet. Honest. Dangerous. “It’s not the time. I have better— more important things to focus on right now.”
Euijoo doesn’t react immediately. “The Moon doesn’t care what you want,” he says eventually.
Fuma clenches his jaw. “I’ve given everything to her. To this pack. To this war.”
“I know.” “And this is what I get?”
Euijoo’s gaze sharpens. “Fuma, this isn’t a punishment—”
“It feels like one.”
Silence stretches again. Then Euijoo nudges him lightly.
“If you want answers,” he says, “go to the prayer grounds.”
Fuma scoffs. “And what? Beg?”
“Yes.”
Fuma looks at him like he’s insane. Euijoo doesn’t waver. “Pray,” he says simply. “Ask her why.”
Fuma’s expression darkens. “You know she doesn’t always answer.”
“Yeah, but she is always listening.” Euijoo shrugs, “Bring a couple of sacrifices, you know she likes flowers.”
“And what if she doesn’t answer even after all that?” “Then you’ll have to figure it out yourself.”
Across the field, Amaris laughs at something Yuma says. Bright. Unrestrained. Alive. Fuma looks at her. And for the first time— He doesn’t look away immediately. The pull in his chest tightens again. Not painful. Not entirely. Just… There. Constant. Unyielding.
“Go,” Euijoo says quietly.
Fuma hesitates. Just for a second. Then turns. And walks toward the prayer grounds. Because for the first time in his life— He doesn’t understand the Moon. And he hates it.
“As you know, I can handle most things.” Fuma stands over the bonfire, dropping jasmine flowers as sacrifices one by one. “But does it really have to be her?”
Silence.
“Fine. Don’t answer that.” He scoffs, squeezing his eyes shut. “But at least tell me why it had to be now that you had to introduce her to me? Especially with everything that’s going on, did you really think I could handle having a mate?”
Silence again.
“I’m really not that lonely you know,” He presses, his ears twitching to listen for the goddess’s voice. “I have no time to be lonely. You know this.”
Fuma doesn’t know why he tried. He knew deep down that she wouldn’t answer him, especially about stuff like this.
But he wanted to believe that he was wrong and that somehow, miraculously, the goddess herself would explain her matchmaking decisions and reassure him that Amaris was the one for him.
Just give me a sign at least—
A loud gasps interrupts his train of thoughts just then and his eyes rip open, quickly scanning the area. Fuma almost laughs. Not out loud—but something in his chest loosens in a way he doesn’t quite recognise.
A sign. He had asked for a sign. And here she is. Standing barefoot at the edge of sacred ground, clutching a bowl like she doesn’t know whether to step forward or run, eyes softer than he’s ever seen them.
Maybe the Moon does listen. Maybe just not in the ways he expects.
“I’m sorry— I could come back later—“
Fuma shakes his head. “It’s alright. We’re done here anyways.” He gets up from his kneeling position and wipes the white sand off his knees.
“Oh… did she leave already or?”
Fuma pauses. “What?”
“Sorry. I just… I’m not sure what I’m expecting. Yuma said I should bring some food as a sacrifice but he didn’t really tell me anything else and I wanted to try talking to the goddess.”
She looked smaller than ever, and maybe that what made Fuma soften. She held the bowl like it was made out of glass and she had the biggest hoodie on that was slipping off her shoulders.
“She’s not here physically but she’s always listening.” He takes big strides towards her and nudges her gently closer to the bonfire.
Carefully ripping the bread into smaller bite sized pieces and drenching the honey over the bread, Amaris watches Fuma as his once cold demeanour eases into something more comforting. “It’s good that you brought honey. She has a sweet tooth, so I think she’ll really like it.” He hands her the bowl back.
His hands hovers over hers as he guides her to cautiously drop the pieces of bread into the fire pit.
Amaris is in awe as the pieces of bread disappear in thin air rather than burning into the fire. “Holy shit.”
“Amazing right?” Fuma manages a small smile. “This means that she has heard you. Sacrifices to the gods do not burn, you can rest assured that she is here.”
“I’ve just… I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
Fuma puts the bowl on the ground and wavers his hands over hers once again. “We try to show as much respect as we can so what we do is,” He gets her to kneel on the white sand, instinctively taking off his jacket to cover her bare legs.
“In this position, we place our hands like this— and you can choose whether you want to speak out loud or say it in your head. She may not respond verbally to you, she might give some signs or omens but don’t be discouraged if she doesn’t respond to you.”
Amaris finishes her prayer slowly, he could hear her stumbling over some of her words as she mumbled and he couldn’t help but crack a smile. The fire burned brighter the more she went on, as if the Moon was reacting to whatever Amaris was saying through the flames.
He wondered what Amaris was asking the Moon.
Was she accepting her fate? Was she confessing something? Was she scared for the war like he was?
Her fingers linger in the sand, tracing nothing in particular, like she’s afraid that if she moves too quickly, she’ll break whatever just happened.
Fuma watches her. Really watches her this time. Not the sharp tongue. Not the defiance. Not the constant friction between them. But this. The way her shoulders have lowered. The way her breathing has steadied. The way she looks… quieter. When she turns to him, there’s something hesitant in her expression. “...What did you ask for?” she asks softly.
Fuma doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifts past her—to the fire, now flickering lower, embers glowing gold beneath ash. “A sign,” he says finally.
Amaris tilts her head slightly. “And?”
There’s the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. Before he can answer—
Footsteps. Fast. Urgent. Breaking the stillness. Fuma’s head snaps toward the entrance of the prayer grounds.
Jo. He’s running. Not walking—not approaching—running. And in his hand— The seashell.
Fuma is on his feet instantly. Every bit of softness from moments ago vanishes like it was never there. The air shifts. Amaris feels it too. She stands quickly, eyes flicking between them, confusion bleeding into concern.
Jo doesn’t slow down until he’s right in front of them, slightly out of breath, his grip tight around the shell like it might disappear if he loosens it.
“Fuma,” he says, voice low but urgent. “It’s Syrena.”
That’s all it takes. Fuma’s entire body goes rigid. Because that shell— That shell is not used lightly. Not for casual conversation. Not for check-ins. Only for one thing.
Emergency.
Jo lifts it slightly, like that alone explains everything. “She made contact,” he continues. “Just now.”
Fuma’s pulse spikes. Behind him, the fire crackles sharply, like the world itself is holding its breath.
“And?” he presses.
Jo’s eyes flick toward Amaris for half a second—then back to Fuma.
“They’re ready.” Silence. Heavy. Thick. Final. “They’ve figured it out,” Jo says. “Sage… she can control it. Not just the critters. Leviathians too.”
Amaris’ brows knit together. “Levi—what?”
But neither of them answers her. Because Fuma hears something else. Not just the words.
The meaning behind them. The war—
The war could be over.
Jo exhales slowly, the weight of it settling in his voice. “Syrena says they’ve stabilised her power. At least she thinks so. The war is on a way bigger scale than what they’ve done so far but the training has worked.”
Jo seems unsure as he continued, “They really had to rush this. Syrena says she thinks Sage is ready but Sage is exhausted. But we don’t have time.”
Fuma clenches his jaw. Sage. Maki’s mate. The key. The weapon. The turning point.“…When?” he asks.
Jo doesn’t hesitate. “They’re moving at first light tomorrow.”
Fuma’s gaze flicks instinctively to the sky. The moon still hangs above them. Watching. Waiting.
Then— Everything clicks into place. Training. Preparation. Prayer. The sleepless nights. Euijoo pushing them to their limits.
It wasn’t just caution. It was this. Fuma exhales through his nose. Slow. Controlled. Decision already forming.
Behind him, Amaris shifts slightly. Still confused. Still catching up. Still completely unaware that she just walked into the centre of a war.
“…What does that mean?” she asks, quieter now.
Fuma turns to look at her. Really look at her.
This girl— Who argued with him over everything. Who didn’t know the Moon. Who didn’t understand pack law. Who stood beside him while he prayed. Who might—
No.
He shuts the thought down immediately. Now is not the time. His voice is steady when he answers. “It means,” he says, “everything changes.”
Jo steps back slightly, already turning. “Euijoo’s calling everyone,” he adds. “Now.” Of course he is. Fuma nods once. Then he looks back at Amaris. There’s a split second—A pause. Like he’s deciding something. Then— “Come on,” he says.
Not an order this time. Not sharp. Not forceful. Just certain.
Amaris hesitates—but only for a second. Then she follows. And above them—The moon burns brighter. Like it knows. The war has finally begun.
Amaris has never seen anything like this.
Not the den—though that was already overwhelming enough. Not the wolves—though that alone should’ve been enough to send her running back to her half-built brick house and pretend none of this existed.
No. It’s this.
The way they move. The way they listen. The way the air in the room feels like it’s been pulled tight—like one wrong word could snap it.
She stands off to the side of the den, arms folded, back pressed lightly against the cool stone wall, trying to make sense of everything she’s learned in the past— What? Twelve hours? Less?
She exhales slowly through her nose. Insane. That’s the only word that comes to mind. This entire pack is insane.
Her gaze drifts across the room. They’re all here now. Every single one of them.
The Alpha—Euijoo—standing at the centre, shoulders squared, expression sharp and focused. The others gathered around him in a loose circle, some pacing, some leaning forward, some already halfway into strategy mode like this is just another day.
Like war is just another problem to solve. Like walking into death is… normal. Her irritation spikes again. The guards she had let down earlier with Fuma are back up. So high up, the moon goddess might see it. Because she hears them. Every word. Every plan.
“—we move at dawn,” Fuma is saying, voice steady, controlled. “We don’t wait for them to come to us. We go to them.”
Amaris’ jaw tightens. There it is. Her arch nemesis. Standing there like he didn’t just suggest the dumbest plan she’s ever heard in her entire life.
“We take advantage of the element of surprise,” he continues. “If Sage can disrupt them—if she can control even a fraction of the Leviathians—”
If.
Amaris pushes herself off the wall. “‘If’?” she cuts in sharply.
The room goes quiet.
Every head turns. Fuma doesn’t even look surprised. Of course he doesn’t. His eyes flick to her immediately, irritation already simmering beneath the surface. “Do you have something to add?” he asks.
“Oh, I have plenty to add,” Amaris shoots back, stepping forward. “Like how you’re all just casually planning to walk straight into what sounds like the worst possible place on earth and just—what—hope it works out?”
A few of the wolves exchange looks. Taki exhales loudly, dragging a hand down his face. “Here we go,” he mutters under his breath.
Harua, somewhere behind him, tilts his head toward the ceiling. “Moon goddess,” he whispers, dead serious, “please just let them kiss or kill each other already. I’m not picky.”
Amaris ignores them.
Her focus is locked entirely on Fuma. “You said it yourself,” she continues. “If she can handle it. This Sage girl—she just learned how to control these things, right? And you’re betting an entire war on that?”
Fuma’s expression hardens. “Alright, you just joined the pack temporarily for less than 24 hours, you don’t get a say in this.”
“Bite me.”
Fuma looks more agitated than ever, “It’s not just her.”
“Oh really?” Amaris scoffs. “Because from what I’m hearing, she’s your big secret weapon.”
“She’s part of it,” Fuma snaps. “We’re not going in alone.”
He gestures sharply, like he’s laying out facts she’s too stubborn to see. “We have the sirens—Syrena and her kingdom. The fae courts. Allied packs. This isn’t just nine wolves charging into battle blindly.”
Amaris lets out a disbelieving laugh. “It sounds like it.”
“It’s strategy.” “It’s reckless.” “It’s necessary.” “It’s stupid.”
Fuma takes a step toward her now. “And what would you suggest?” he challenges. The question lands harder than she expects. Amaris opens her mouth to say something snarky but all she comes up with is, “I thought you said I didn’t have an opinion because I’m on a probation period.”
Lord, what am I? Seven? Why did I just say that?
“You’re off the probation for 2 minutes. Give me a better solution now.”
She stops. Because— Because she doesn’t know. Not really. Her thoughts scramble for something. Anything. A better plan. A safer option. A different approach. Nothing comes. And that— That frustrates her more than anything. Her jaw tightens. “…I wouldn’t walk straight into a death trap,” she mutters.
Fuma doesn’t let it go. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s a better one than yours.” “It’s not a plan.” “It’s common sense!” “It’s fear.”
Her head snaps up. “I am not afraid—”
“Then act like it,” he cuts in, voice sharper now. “Because right now all you’re doing is standing on the sidelines criticising a fight you don’t even understand.”
The room stills.
That hits. Hard. Amaris feels it—right in her chest. Heat floods her veins instantly. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she bites out. “I forgot I need years of wolf training and a lecture from the Moon to realise that running into danger headfirst is a bad idea.”
“And I forgot,” Fuma fires back, “that doing nothing somehow makes you smarter.”
“I never said do nothing!” “Then say something useful.” “Oh my gods, you are infuriating—” “And you’re avoiding the question—” “Because you’re not listening—” “Because you’re not making sense—” “Because your plan is INSANE—” “Because it’s WAR—”
“ENOUGH.” Euijoo’s voice cuts through the room like a blade.
Silence slams down instantly.
Both of them freeze. Breathing hard. Still glaring at each other.
Euijoo looks between them, visibly holding onto the last thread of his patience. “I don’t have time for this,” he says flatly. His gaze shifts to Amaris. “You’re right about one thing.”
She blinks. Didn’t expect that.
“This plan isn’t without risk,” he continues. “Sage’s power is new. The Leviathians are unpredictable. And yes—walking into their territory is dangerous.”
Amaris lifts her chin slightly. Finally. But then—“It’s also our best option.”
Her expression drops.
Euijoo’s eyes harden. “We don’t get the luxury of perfect plans,” he says. “We get the ones that give us a chance.” A beat. Then— “If you have something better, I will listen.”
Amaris hesitates.
Again. That same frustrating, empty silence. Nothing. No better plan. No smarter solution. No miracle answer. Just— she hated to admit it but…fear.
Uncertainty.
And the very real possibility that he’s right.
Her shoulders tense. “…I don’t,” she admits, quieter this time.
The room exhales. Fuma looks away first. But not before she catches it— That flicker in his expression. Not victory. Not satisfaction. Something else. Something… heavier.
Euijoo nods once. “Then we move forward.”
Decision made. Final. No more debate.
Around them, the pack shifts back into motion immediately—discussing routes, timing, coordination. Like the argument never even happened.
Like this is just how things are. Amaris stands there for a moment longer. Still processing. Still trying to catch up. Still wondering how she got dragged into this. Her gaze flicks back to Fuma.
He’s already talking again. Already planning. Already carrying the weight of it like it’s second nature. And for the first time— She doesn’t just feel irritation. She feels something else. Something unfamiliar. Something unsettling. Because as much as she hates it— He believes in this. In them. In the fight.
And she doesn’t know if that makes him a fool— Or something far more dangerous. Someone who’s willing to burn for it. Her gaze flicks back to Fuma. He’s already talking again. Already planning. Already carrying the weight of it like it’s second nature.
And for the first time— She doesn’t just feel irritation. She feels something else. Something unfamiliar. Something unsettling. Because as much as she hates it— He believes in this. In them. In the fight.
And she doesn’t know if that makes him a fool— Or something far more dangerous. Someone who’s willing to burn for it.
“…No.” The word leaves her before she can stop it. The room stills. Every head turns. Amaris doesn’t even realise she’s stood up until all eyes are on her. A room full of wolves. Men who have fought, bled, survived.
And her— Barely trained. Barely known. Still, she doesn’t sit back down. “I’m not staying behind.”
“No,” Euijoo repeats, firmer this time.
Amaris’ jaw tightens. “You didn’t even let me finish.”
“I don’t need to,” the alpha says calmly. “The answer is still no.”
Her hands curl into fists at her sides. “I can fight.”
“You can survive a sparring session,” Taki mutters under his breath. “That’s not the same thing.”
Her eyes snap toward him. “You don’t know what I can do.”
“I know enough,” he shoots back.
“I’ve been fighting my whole life—”
“You realise it’s different right?” Nicholas cuts in. “There’s no rules once you get out there.”
“This isn’t a match.”“This is a war.”
The words hit harder than they should. Amaris grits her teeth. “But I’m not asking to be protected,” she says, voice rising. “I’m asking to fight.”
“And we’re telling you no,” Euijoo replies, tone final.
Frustration spikes, sharp and immediate. “Why?” she demands.
“Because it’s dangerous,” Harua says.
“No shit.”
“Because you’re not trained,” K adds.
“I can learn.” “Not in time.”
Her breathing quickens. “This is ridiculous—”
“And because,” Yuma cuts in gently, “you don’t have anyone waiting for you.”
That makes her pause. Her gaze snaps to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Yuma sighs, not unkindly. “It means… when we go out there, we’re not just fighting to win.”
“We’re fighting to come back.”
A beat.
“You don’t have a pack.” The words land softer than the others. But they cut deeper. “
No one’s watching your back,” he continues. “No one’s coming for you if something goes wrong.”
Amaris scoffs, but it comes out weaker than she intends. “I don’t need that.”
“Everyone does.” “I don’t.” “You’re lying.”
Silence. Thick. Heavy.
Euijoo steps in before it can spiral further. “You’re staying here,” he says. “That’s final.”
Amaris laughs. Short. Sharp. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do,” he says simply.
Her eyes flash. “And if I don’t listen?”
“Then don’t. You aren’t part of this pack anyways.”
The room goes quiet again. That wasn’t a threat. That was a line. Amaris feels it settle over her. Heavy. Unmoving. Her chest tightens.
“…Fine,” she says, voice low.
But it’s not agreement. Not really.
Fuma watches her for a second longer than necessary. “That’s enough,” he says, cutting through the tension. “Meeting’s over.”
The wolves begin to move. Conversation resumes. Plans continue. Like she didn’t just stand there and try to carve a place for herself and get shut down. Amaris stands there a second longer.
Then turns sharply and walks out. She finds Yuma first. Of course she does. He’s easy to find. Easy to talk to. Too easy. “You’re just going to let that happen?” she demands.
Yuma looks up from where he’s packing supplies. “Let what happen?”
“That.”
He studies her for a moment. Then sighs. “Yeah.” Amaris stares at him like he just betrayed her.
“That’s it?” “That’s it.” “You were the one explaining everything to me yesterday.” “I still am.”" “Then help me.”
Yuma shakes his head. “That’s not how this works.”
“Why not?” “Because we follow the alpha.” “Even when he’s wrong?”
He pauses. Then says carefully, “We follow him because he isn’t.”
Amaris scoffs. “That’s blind loyalty.”
“It’s trust.”
She laughs again, harsher this time. “Right. Because walking into enemy territory is such a genius plan.”
“We’ve been preparing for this for months,” Yuma says quietly. “We finally have a chance to end it.”
“And if it goes wrong?” “It might.”
That answer catches her off guard. Yuma shrugs slightly. “But we go anyway.”
Amaris searches his face. “…And you’re okay with that?”
“No,” he admits. “But I trust him.”
“He’s right about you.”
Her expression hardens instantly. “Don’t.”
“You’re alone.” “I said don’t.” “You don’t have a pack to fall back on. No one to pull you out if things go bad.” “I can take care of myself.” “I know you think you can.”
It snaps something in her. “I can,” she snaps. “I’ve been doing it my whole life.”
“And that’s exactly the problem.”
Amaris’ chest rises and falls sharply.
“You haven’t seen this kind of war,” Yuma continues, softer now. “And we haven’t seen you in it.”
“So I don’t get a chance?” “Not like this.”
Her hands shake. She hates that he’s calm. Hates that he’s reasonable. Hates that she can’t just punch her way out of this conversation.
“…Forget it,” she mutters, turning away.
“Amaris—”
But she’s already gone. She doesn’t know where she’s going.
Her steps echo through the den.
Sharp. Fast. Angry.
But underneath that anger— Something else. Something worse.
Because it’s not just about the war. Not really. It’s her. It’s always been her. She doesn’t belong anywhere. Not with humans. Not really. Not with wolves.
Not yet. She exhales shakily. Her throat tightens. Because for the first time, she understands what they meant.
You don’t have anyone waiting for you.
Her vision blurs. She blinks hard. Keeps walking.
“I’m not alone,” she mutters.
But it sounds weaker now. Less convincing. Because the truth is, she doesn’t even know what she is.
Human? Wolf? Something in between? Her mother is a stranger. A ghost. A question she never got to ask. Her father— Her jaw tightens.
Not worth calling family. Only around when there was money to be made. Only present when she was in a ring— Bleeding. Fighting. Winning. For him. Her fists clench. “I’m not that person anymore,” she whispers.
She’s not the girl in the ring. Not the girl being used. Not the girl with nothing.
This wolf thing— It’s new. It’s terrifying. But it’s hers. For once— It’s hers.
Her breathing stutters.
A tear slips down before she can stop it. Then another. She wipes at them angrily.
“Get it together,” she mutters. But they keep coming. Because if she’s not human— And she’s not wolf— Then what is she?
Where does she go? Who does she belong to? Her steps slow.
Then, without really thinking, she turns.
Back through the den. Back towards him. She doesn’t realise how far she’s walked until she’s standing outside his room. She doesn’t knock. Just pushes the door open.
Empty.
Her frustration spikes immediately. “Of course you’re not here.”
Moves again. Faster this time. Searching. Room to room. And that’s when she sees it.
Really sees it. The preparation. The weapons. The maps. The supplies. Everything laid out with precision. With purpose. They’re not guessing. They’re ready. Her chest tightens.
Because as much as she hates to admit it, Fuma was right. She’s only seen a fraction of this. “…Shit,” she mutters under her breath. But it doesn’t change anything. If anything, itmakes it worse. Because now she knows what she’s asking for. And she still wants it. She keeps moving.
Until, the air changes. Quieter. Stiller. The prayer grounds. Of course. She steps in slowly. And sees him. On his knees. Head bowed. Hands clenched.
“Please…”
She freezes.
He doesn’t hear her. Doesn’t notice her. And for the first time since she’s met him, he doesn’t look like the unshakable, infuriating, always-in-control beta.
He looks tired.
No. That’s not it. He looks… Worn down. Like something inside him has been stretched too far for too long.
Amaris stops where she is. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Because his voice, it’s not the voice she knows. It’s quieter. Rougher. Breaking at the edges. “Please…” The word barely makes it out. Her breath catches.
“I know you don’t answer every prayer,” he says, voice low, strained. “I know… I know that’s not how this works.” His fingers curl tighter. “But just this once—” He swallows. Hard. And Amaris feels something twist in her chest. “Just this once, I’m asking.” Silence stretches. The fire crackles. Fuma bows his head further. “If someone has to be taken—” His voice falters. Then steadies. Forcefully. “Take me.”
Amaris freezes. Her heart stutters. What?
“If something goes wrong… if someone has to die…” His shoulders tremble. Barely. But she sees it. “Let it be me.” The words land heavy. Final. Like he’s already made peace with it. “I’m the beta. It’s my responsibility.” His breathing is uneven now. Like he’s been holding this in for a long time. “They trust me to bring them back alive.” A pause. Longer this time. “They all have something to go back to.” His voice drops. Soft.
Almost… fragile. “They have people waiting for them.” He whispers into the fire, “So take me instead.”
Amaris feels like the ground just shifted under her feet. Because, this is the same man who stood in front of her hours ago, arguing like he was made of steel. The same man who called her out. Who challenged her. Who looked like nothing could shake him. And now, he’s here. Begging. Not for victory. Not for glory. Not even for survival. But for them.
Her throat tightens. Because suddenly, everything makes sense. The way he pushes them. The way he argues. The way he doesn’t bend. It’s not arrogance. It’s not control. It’s fear. Not for himself. For them.
Amaris shifts slightly. Just enough for her foot to brush against the sand. The soft sound is enough. Fuma stills.
Then slowly, he turns. Their eyes meet. And just like that, the moment shatters. His expression hardens instantly. Walls snapping back into place like they were never gone.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. Back to that tone. That distance. But Amaris sees it now. Sees through it. And for once, she doesn’t snap back immediately. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t bite. She just… looks at him. Really looks at him.
“…You weren’t in your room,” she says, quieter than usual.
Fuma exhales sharply, pushing himself to his feet. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I was looking for you.” “Why?”
There it is. Straight to the point. Always. Amaris hesitates. Because the words she came here with— They don’t feel the same anymore.
“I wanted to argue,” she admits.
Fuma raises a brow. “Of course you did.”
Normally, she’d snap. Fire back immediately. But instead— “…I still do,” she adds.
His expression doesn’t change. “Then say it.”
Amaris takes a step forward. Her voice steadier now. But different. “I still think your plan is reckless.”
Fuma crosses his arms. “Noted.”
“But…” She exhales. Frustrated. Not at him. At herself. “—I guess I didn’t realise how much you’ve already prepared.”
That gets his attention. Just slightly. “I didn’t realise how much you’ve been doing,” she continues. “How much all of you have been doing.” A pause. “That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
Fuma huffs. “There it is.”
“But it also doesn’t mean you are,” she shoots back quickly.
Silence. They stand there. The fire crackling between them. And then, “I’m coming with you.”
Fuma’s expression darkens immediately.
“No.” “Yes.” “No.” “It’s not optional.”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t use my words against me.”
“I’m going anyway.” “You’re not trained.” “I can fight.” “Not like this.” “Then teach me.” “It doesn’t work like that.” “Then make it work.”
His jaw tightens. “Amaris—”
“If this is a war,” she cuts in, voice rising now, “then hiding me here doesn’t make sense.”
“It keeps you alive.”
“And what happens when this reaches places like that village, huh?” she fires back. “When people like me are caught in it without knowing anything?”
That hits. She steps closer.
“You said it yourself. This is bigger than all of us.”
Her voice softens. Just slightly. “So stop treating me like I’m not part of it.”
Fuma stares at her. Really stares this time. And that pull— That bond— Tightens between them. Unavoidable now. Unignorable.
“You don’t understand what you’re asking,” he says quietly.
Amaris holds his gaze. “Then help me understand.”
Silence stretches. Heavy. Complicated. He doesn’t answer. Not immediately. His jaw tightens, eyes flickering—conflict, frustration, something deeper buried underneath it all.
For a moment, she thinks he might say yes. Or at least… consider it. Instead—
“You’re not coming.” The finality in his voice lands like a door slamming shut.
Amaris exhales sharply through her nose. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re reckless.” “I’m realistic.” “You’re inexperienced.” “I learn fast.” “This isn’t something you learn on the battlefield—”
“Then where?” she snaps. “Here? Sitting around while everyone else decides my place for me?”
Fuma steps closer. Too close. The air between them tightens instantly.
“This isn’t about your pride.” “And this isn’t about your control.” “It’s about keeping you alive.” “I didn’t ask you to.”
Something flashes in his eyes then. Sharp. Dangerous. “You don’t get to make that choice.”
Amaris stills. “…Why?” The question is quieter this time. Not a challenge. Not an argument. Just— Why?
Fuma opens his mouth. Stops. Because he doesn’t have an answer he’s willing to say out loud. Because you’re my mate sits at the back of his throat like something explosive.
Because the thought of her— Out there— Bleeding— Possibly dying— It makes something in him snap. “
I just don’t,” he mutters instead. Weak. Unconvincing. Amaris sees right through it. Her expression shifts. Not softer. But… sharper. More certain.
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “That’s what I thought.” She steps back. Breaking the tension. Breaking whatever that moment was. “I’m not asking for permission.”
Fuma’s eyes narrow. “Amaris—”
“I’m telling you.” She turns. Walks away. Before he can stop her. Before he can say something he can’t take back.
The pack leaves before dawn Quiet. Efficient. No wasted movement. No unnecessary words. War sits heavy in the air. Syrena and Sage had arrived that same morning as promised, dragging cases of ancient musical instruments that buzzed softly if you went close enough to them.
“Hey pretty girl..” Maki murmurs softly into Sage’s shoulder, lightly kissing her forehead. He brushes a few strands of her hair back as he takes a better look. It had been weeks since he last saw her. A whirlwind of events — finding out that his mate was half elf and half siren, the fact that she was the missing weapon all along that could stop this war.
He was reluctant in letting her go, training mercilessly under Syrena’s watch but he knew that there was nowhere safer or better to train her.
The faster they learn, the faster this war is over.
Fuma doesn’t sleep. Doesn’t even try. He’s already on edge—running through plans, contingencies, numbers. Until something feels wrong. He doesn’t know what it is at first. Just—A shift. A presence. Familiar. Too familiar. And the scent?
Canine.
His head snaps up. “Stop.”
The command cuts through the group instantly. They halt. Every sense sharpened. Fuma turns slowly. Scanning. Listening. And then— There. Behind them.
A figure. Stepping out from the treeline like she has absolutely no business being there.
Amaris.
Fuma goes very, very still. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
She crosses her arms. “Good morning.”
The entire pack stares. Somewhere behind him, Taki mutters, “Oh this is going to be bad.”
“Are you actually dense? What is wrong with you?” Fuma starts walking toward her. Slow. Measured. Dangerously calm. “You disobeyed a direct order.”
Amaris lifts her chin. “I made my own decision.”
“You don’t get to—” “I do.”
He stops in front of her. Close enough that she has to tilt her head slightly to meet his eyes.
“Go back.” “No.” “Now.” “No.”
His patience snaps. “Amaris—”
“I’m not going back.” Her voice doesn’t waver. Not even a little. “I’m not sitting in that den while you all go out there and fight a war that’s going to reach people like me whether I like it or not.”
“This isn’t a debate.” “Good. Because I’m not debating.”
The tension spikes. Sharp. Volatile. Fuma’s hands curl at his sides. “You’re a liability.”
Something flickers across her face— But she doesn’t back down. “Then let me prove I’m not.”
He can’t help but laugh at her sentence, exasperated. “You really don’t understand, do you?”
She doesn’t break eye contact.
“Amaris, I cannot protect you out there. I need you safe. I need—“ “I don’t need protection. I’m fine—“ “Yes, you do. I can’t keep you safe if—“
“Enough.”
The voice cuts through them both. Yuma.
Fuma turns sharply. And something in his chest twists immediately.
Because he notices Yuma standing beside Amaris. Not behind him. Not neutral. Beside her. And a little bit too close in his opinion. Not that it mattered.
“She’s already here,” Yuma says calmly. “Sending her back alone is worse.”
Fuma’s eyes narrow. “She shouldn’t have come in the first place.”
“But she did.” “That doesn’t make it acceptable.”
“It makes it reality.” Fuma takes a step forward. “And since when do you get to override my calls?”
“I’m not,” Yuma replies evenly. “I’m adapting to the situation.”
“Adapt away then.” Fuma laughs. Cold. “Stand away from her while you’re at it.”
“Alright that’s enough.” Euijoo stands between the two wolves.
Yuma doesn’t react. Doesn’t rise to it. Which somehow makes it worse. “I’m making sure she doesn’t die before we even reach the battlefield.”
That does it. Something sharp and ugly twists in Fuma’s chest. Fast. Unfamiliar. Possessive.
“Funny,” Fuma says, voice low. “Didn’t realise that was your responsibility.”
Yuma’s gaze flicks to him. Something knowing in it. Something that makes Fuma’s skin crawl. “It’s someone’s.” he says.
Amaris looks between them. “…Okay, what is going on with you two?”
“Nothing,” Fuma snaps.
“At least we agree on something,” Yuma adds lightly.
Fuma ignores him and fixes his gaze back on her. “You stay close to me. You don’t move unless told. You don’t act unless ordered.”
Amaris raises a brow. “You’re not my—”
“Do it,” he cuts in sharply. Something in his tone— Something different— Makes her pause. Just for a second.
“…Fine,” she mutters.
“We done here?” Euijoo shoves the two guys away with force now, “Let’s go. We don’t have all day.”
Fuma turns away first. Because if he looks at her any longer, he might say something he shouldn’t.
And because if he looks at Yuma? He might do something worse.
They move at a steady pace.
Not rushed. Not slow. Just… deliberate. Like every step is calculated. Like every breath matters.
Amaris stays where she was told. Close. Close enough to hear everything. And for once— She doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t argue. She listens.
Euijoo’s voice carries low but firm as he walks ahead. “We split once we reach the outer ridge,” he says. “Taki, you take the western flank. Harua, high ground—cover.” A series of nods. No hesitation. No questions.
They just… understand. It unsettles her a little. A few steps ahead, another voice. Softer. Calmer. “Breathe with me,” Syrena murmurs.
Amaris glances over.
Sage walks beside her, fingers trembling slightly as she clutches one of her instruments.
“Slow,” Syrena continues, demonstrating. “In… and out. Don’t force it.”
There’s a pause. Then quieter— “Just don’t overdo it, alright?” Syrena adds, voice laced with something protective. “Your body will tell you when it’s too much. Listen to it. If you push past that—”
She doesn’t finish. Doesn’t need to. Sage nods anyway. Amaris swallows. Deadly consequences. Right. Good plan.
“Hey.”
Amaris turns. Another girl walks beside her now. Dark eyes. Sharp gaze. Blue hair. There’s something… different about her. “You’re the new one,” she says simply.
Amaris raises a brow. “That obvious?”
“A little,” the girl shrugs. “I’m Nova.”
Amaris blinks. “The warlock?”
Nova smirks slightly. “Word travels fast.”
“Apparently.”
Before Amaris can ask more, another voice cuts in— “You’ll get used to it.”
Lyra. She slots in easily on Amaris’ other side. Warm. Easy. Too easy. “We all looked like that at some point,” she adds with a small smile.
“Like what?” Amaris asks.
“Like you’re trying to figure out if this is real or not.”
Amaris huffs. “Still deciding.”
Then, curiosity wins. “…Can I ask you something?”
Four pairs of eyes turn to her. Amaris hesitates. Then just says it. “How did you know?”
“Know what?” Nova asks.
“That you were… mates.”
The word feels strange in her mouth. Heavy. Real. Too real. The girls exchange glances. Then, they smile. Soft. Knowing.
“Honestly?” Sage says, “Well, I didn’t know.”
Amaris blinks. “What?”
“The guys did,” Syrena adds. “They always seem to know first.”
“Annoyingly fast,” Sage mutters.
Amaris frowns. “So you just… believed them?”
“Not exactly,” Nova snorts. “There was a lot of denial involved.”
Syrena smiles faintly. “But the bond makes it hard to ignore.”
Amaris’ chest tightens slightly. “…Bond?”
Lyra nods. “Wolves only have one mate. It’s… not something you can replace.”
Amaris lets out a short laugh. “Sounds intense.”
“It is,” Syrena says simply. There’s a pause. Then Nova tilts her head slightly. “Fuma’s the only one who hasn’t found his yet.”
Amaris doesn’t even think. She laughs. Actually laughs. “Yeah, that checks out.”
The girls grin. “Oh?” Lyra hums. “And why’s that?”
Amaris rolls her eyes. “Have you met him?”
Nova snorts. “Fair.”
Amaris shakes her head, still half amused. “Whoever his mate is,” she adds, “I feel bad for her already.”
Lyra’s smile turns… interesting. “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.”
Amaris misses it completely. “Please,” she scoffs. “She’d rather rot—”
“Have you ever heard your wolf?” The question cuts through her sentence.
Amaris blinks. “…What?”
Lyra watches her carefully now. “Your wolf,” she repeats gently. “Has it ever spoken to you?”
Amaris hesitates. “…No.”
“Not even once?”
She shakes her head. “Is it supposed to tell me I’ve found my mate?”
The girls exchange another glance. Softer this time. “Sometimes it takes time,” Syrena says.
“Especially if you’ve only just… awakened,” Nova adds.
Amaris frowns. “…What does it feel like?”
Lyra smiles slightly. “Different for everyone.”
“Helpful,” Amaris deadpans.
Lyra laughs. “Okay, fair. For some people—it’s physical.”
“Pain,” Nova adds. “Like your chest is being ripped open.”
“For others,” Sage continues, “it’s… lighter. Like something heavy just disappears.”
“Or,” Lyra says, voice softer now, “it’s immediate. Like something in you just—clicks.”
Amaris listens. Really listens now. “And when you meet your mate?” she asks.
Lyra tilts her head. “That’s when it gets harder to ignore.”
“How?”
Another pause. “Sparks maybe,” Nova says simply.
Amaris’ steps falter. “…What?”
“Sparks,” Lyra repeats. “Sometimes it’s like static. Like electricity under your skin.”
“Like something’s pulling you toward them,” Sage adds quietly.
Amaris goes very, very still. Sparks. Static. That— That buzzing. That pull.
That— Her mind flashes. Fuma grabbing her wrist. That jolt. Sharp. Sudden. Unmistakable. Her breath catches. “…That’s a thing?” she asks, a little too quickly.
Lyra watches her. Closely. “Yeah,” she says gently. “It is.”
Amaris laughs. But it comes out wrong. Too forced. Too high. “Okay, that’s— yeah. That’s weird.” No one responds and Amaris’ stomach drops slightly. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “No, that’s— that doesn’t make sense.”
“Amaris—”
“No,” she cuts in quickly. “That’s just— coincidence. Or something. Or— I don’t know, wolf thing—”
Her voice falters. Because suddenly— It does make sense. Too much sense. Her gaze shifts.
Without meaning to. Across the group. Landing on— Him. Fuma. Walking ahead. Back straight. Shoulders tense. Like he’s holding the entire war on them. Like he’s holding himself together.
Her chest tightens. That same— Pull. Subtle. But there. Waiting. Her breath stutters. “…No way,” she whispers.
And as if he feels it, Fuma glances back. Their eyes meet. And the bond— Tightens. Just a little more.
Amaris looks away first. Heart racing. Mind spinning. Because there is absolutely— No way. Right?
She really should have thought this through first. Taken a breath. Maybe five. But this is Amaris. And Amaris doesn’t pause—she acts.
So the moment Euijoo calls it for the night and the camp begins to settle, she’s already moving. Fast. Determined. Furious. She spots him near the edge of the clearing, speaking quietly with K—something about formations, strategy, fallback routes— Doesn’t matter.
“Fuma.” He barely has time to turn before she grabs his wrist. And drags him. Straight into the trees. “—what the—Amaris—”
“Don’t,” she snaps, shoving him deeper into the forest until the noise of the others fades, until it’s just them and the sound of their breathing.
She spins on him. Eyes blazing. “When,” she demands, voice sharp and low, “were you planning on telling me?”
Fuma blinks. Once. “…Telling you what?”
Her laugh is short. Disbelieving. “Oh, I don’t know—maybe the part where we’re apparently bonded for life?”
His entire body stills. “…What?”
“You heard me,” she snaps, stepping closer. “Mate bond. Soulmate. One person for the rest of your life—ring any bells?”
Fuma stares at her. Something flashes across his face—shock, yes—but something else too. Hope. Dangerous, immediate hope. “Did your wolf speak to you?” he asks quickly.
Amaris falters. Just for a second. “What? Why does that even—”
“Did she?” he presses, stepping forward now, eyes searching hers. “Amaris, I’m so happy for you! You’re finally becoming a wolf and it matters—”
“Why does it matter?” she fires back, shoving his shoulder. “Why does any of this matter when you already knew?!”
That stops him. Silence drops heavy between them. “…You knew,” she repeats, quieter now—but sharper. Worse. “You knew. And you said nothing.”
Fuma exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know,” he says.
Her eyes narrow. “That’s bullshit.”
“I didn’t know for sure,” he corrects, more firmly now. “There’s a difference.”
“Oh, that makes it so much better,” she deadpans.
“I was waiting,” he snaps back.
“For what?” “For confirmation.”
She lets out a harsh laugh. “From who? The Moon herself?”
“Yes.”
The word lands harder than she expects. Because he’s not joking. Of course he’s not. “…You’re unbelievable,” she mutters.
“That night at the prayer grounds,” he continues, ignoring the jab, voice tightening, “I was asking for a sign.”
Amaris goes still. “You were asking if I was your mate?” she says slowly.
“Yes.”
There’s no hesitation. No shame. Just honesty. And for some reason— That pisses her off even more.
“Wow,” she scoffs, stepping back. “Okay. Right. So let me get this straight—you drag me into all this Moon nonsense, lecture me about laws I’ve never even heard of, teach me rituals like I’m supposed to just fall in line—”
“And you fight me every step of the way,” he cuts in.
“Because you’re insufferable!” “And you’re impossible!” “Excuse me?!”
“You don’t listen,” he shoots back, frustration bleeding through now. “You don’t think before you act, you challenge everything—”
“And you don’t bend!” she fires back. “You don’t adapt, you don’t consider anything outside your perfect little rulebook—”
“Because those rules keep people alive!” “And your plan is to walk us straight into death!” “At least I have a plan!” “At least I don’t pretend I know everything!” “I don’t—” “You literally do!”
They’re both breathing harder now. Too close. Way too close.
“And another thing—” she starts, jabbing a finger into his chest, “you don’t get to stand there and decide whether I’m worth being your mate or not—”
“I never said that.” “You didn’t have to!” “I was trying to be sure—”
“Of what? That I’m good enough?” she laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I didn’t exactly ask for this either—”
“Neither did I!” “Good!” “Great!” “Perfect!” “Fantastic!”
Silence. Heavy. Crackling.
Their chests rise and fall in sync now, breaths uneven, anger still simmering—but something else tangled in it. Something hotter. Something far more dangerous. Amaris shakes her head, turning away slightly. “God, you are—”
She doesn’t get to finish. Because suddenly— He moves. Fast. A split-second decision.
A leap without thinking.
Fuma grabs her wrist, yanks her back— And crashes his mouth against hers. It’s not gentle. Not soft. It’s messy. Frustrated. All sharp edges and pent-up tension and everything neither of them knows how to say. For a second, she freezes. Completely. Like her brain short-circuits.
And then, the world tilts. The bond snaps. It’s not subtle this time. It’s a surge—violent and overwhelming, like something ancient and instinctive finally locking into place. Heat floods through her veins, her chest tightening, breath catching, and gods— The sparks. Actual sparks. Not just tingling. Not just heat. It’s electric. It burns. It consumes. Fuma feels it too.
A sharp inhale against her lips, his grip tightening involuntarily like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he lets go. For that one moment, they stop fighting. Stop thinking. Stop everything. And just feel. Amaris shoves him back. Hard. “What the hell was that?!” she breathes, eyes wide, lips parted in shock.
Fuma stares at her, just as shaken. “…That,” he says, voice rough, “was confirmation.”
Her mouth opens Closes. Opens again. “You—” she points at him, completely thrown, “—you don’t just get to do that—”
“You didn’t exactly hate it.” “I— that’s not the point!” “It kind of is.” “It’s not!” “It is.” “Shut up!” “I’m right!” “You’re unbelievable!” “And you’re still here!”
They’re yelling again. Immediately. Like nothing just happened. Except everything did.
Because now, there’s no denying it.
The argument is still burning between them. Sharp. Heated. Alive. “And another thing—” Amaris starts, voice rising again, finger jabbing into his chest.
Fuma opens his mouth to snap back—and stops. Mid-breath. Mid-thought. His entire body stills.
Amaris blinks. “…What?”
He doesn’t answer. His head tilts slightly. Ears twitching. Once. Twice. Violently now—like he’s trying to catch something slipping through the air.
The forest goes quiet. Too quiet.
“…Fuma?” she tries again, slower this time. Nothing. His gaze sharpens. Scans the darkness. The wind. The trees.
Amaris frowns, irritation bubbling back up. “Oh, what, you’re just done arguing now? That’s it? That’s how I win?” Still nothing. “Wow. That was disappointing. I expected more fight from—”
A hand clamps over her mouth. Hard. Her eyes go wide.
“Shut. Up.” His voice is barely above a whisper—but it’s sharp. Urgent. Not angry. Terrified.
Amaris freezes. Because she’s never heard that tone from him before. Not once. Slowly, she pries his hand off her face. “…Are you okay?”
Fuma doesn’t look at her. His face has gone completely blank. Not cold. Not irritated. Bleak. “We have to go,” he says.
Something in her chest tightens. “…Why?” A beat.
“…We’re under attack.”
They run.
Branches snap underfoot. Breath sharp in their lungs. The bond between them pulls tight—urgent, frantic, suffocating.
And when they break through the tree line, Amaris wishes they hadn’t. The world has turned red. Blood soaks into the earth, thick and dark.
The metallic scent hits her first—overwhelming, suffocating. Bodies litter the clearing. Not all dead. Some still moving. Some still screaming. The pack is surrounded. Leviathians. Dozens of them.
No— More. Too many to count.
Their forms twisted, wrong. Skin split in places where something beneath tries to push through. Gills flaring along their necks, slick with blood. Eyes glowing faintly—sickly, sea-green in the firelight. The villagers—no, not villagers. Monsters wearing their faces. They close in from all sides.
Euijoo is at the centre. On his knees. A blade pressed against his throat. Nova is restrained nearby—wrists bound, two leviathians holding her down. Her eyes are glowing faintly, magic flickering under her skin—but she can’t move. Can’t cast.
K and Harua are back-to-back, fighting like hell—arrows, blades, teeth, claws—cutting down anything that comes too close. Yuma is pinned. Three leviathians holding him down, forcing his head back, one clawed hand gripping his throat.
In the corner hiding, Sage is shaking, Syrena holding her upright, whispering something urgently in her ear as the girl tries to steady her breathing, fingers trembling over her instrument. But she can’t focus.
Not like this. Not with this many. Not with this much chaos. They’re getting overwhelmed. They’re losing.
Beside her, Fuma goes rigid. “No—” it leaves him like a broken breath. His hands curl into fists. Hard enough that his knuckles split. “If I had just—” his voice cracks. Low. furious. “If I had heard it earlier—”
The howls. The warning. He was too busy arguing. With her. His jaw clenches so hard it looks like it might break. “This is my fault.”
Amaris turns to him. “Fuma—” But he’s already moving. Thinking. Calculating. Fast. Always fast. His eyes flick across the battlefield. Positions. Numbers. Weak points.
“Nova,” he mutters. “If we free Nova—” He grabs Amaris’ arm, pulling her closer, voice low and urgent. “She can get us out. Teleport. Or call reinforcements. Sirens. Onyx’s pack—they’re close enough if we howl.”
His mind is racing now. “We create a diversion. Split them. I go for Nova—” He turns. And stops.
Amaris isn’t there. His stomach drops. Fast. Violent. “What—”
He whips back toward the clearing and sees her. His heart nearly stops.
Amaris is already in the fight. Moving low. Fast. Silent. Not reckless. Not this time. Calculated. She slips between shadows, using the chaos as cover. Her movements are sharp, precise—years of fighting carved into instinct. She ducks under a swinging arm, pivots, drives her elbow into a leviathian’s throat, it chokes. Staggers. She doesn’t stay to finish it. She keeps moving.
Toward Yuma. Fuma’s breath catches. “What the hell are you doing—” She reaches him. One of the leviathians notices too late. Amaris grabs the chain binding Yuma’s wrists and twists, cuts it against a jagged rock. Metal cracks.
Yuma’s eyes snap to hers—surprised. “Move,” she snaps. He doesn’t hesitate. The moment he’s free, he shifts. Bones crack. Flesh tears. A massive wolf bursts through, ripping into the nearest leviathian with a vicious, throat-crushing bite. Black tar sprays. Hot. Thick. Violent.
The battlefield erupts further into chaos. Fuma exhales sharply. Relief— Gone instantly.
Because now they’ve drawn attention. “AMARIS—!” he roars.
Too late. Three leviathians turn toward her.bTheir eyes glow. Their bodies twitch. And then they lunge.
Amaris barely dodges the first. The second catches her, claws rake across her side. She gasps—stumbles—but doesn’t fall. Doesn’t stop.
Fuma moves before he even thinks. He shifts mid-run—bones snapping, skin tearing—wolf bursting free as he barrels into them. He hits one mid-air.
CRUNCH.
Jaws lock around its throat. He shakes once, violently, and the body goes limp. The second one turns. Too slow. Fuma’s claws tear through its chest, ripping it open, organs spilling onto the forest floor. The third lunges for Amaris but Yuma intercepts. Massive jaws clamping down on its arm, tearing it clean off.
The creature SCREAMS— Not human. Not anything natural.
Amaris stumbles back, clutching her side, breathing hard. Fuma shifts back instantly, grabbing her shoulders. “Are you out of your mind?!” he snaps.
She glares, breathless. “You’re welcome.”
“That wasn’t the plan—” “Well your plan was slow.” “That plan keeps you alive!” “So does this!”
Another leviathian lunges— Fuma spins, dragging her with him, blade flashing as he drives it straight through the creature’s eye. It collapses at their feet.
Dead.
For half a second, they’re too close. Breathing hard. Blood splattered across both of them. Eyes locked. The bond between them surges. Violent. Electric.
Then, a scream cuts through everything. Fuma’s head snaps up. Sage. She’s playing.
Finally.
The sound is shaky at first, then it builds. Stronger. Sharper. And the effect is immediate. Leviathians recoil. Hands flying to their ears. Bodies convulsing.
Some drop to their knees, shrieking—inhuman, guttural sounds tearing out of their throats. The tide shifts. Again. Hope flickers.
And then. Everything goes wrong. A shadow moves too fast. Too calculated. One leviathian—bigger than the rest—pushes through the chaos, ignoring the sound, ignoring the pain. It doesn’t go for the pack. It goes for—
Amaris.
Fuma turns— Too late.
It strikes.
Fast. Precise. A blade—no— A jagged bone shard— Drives straight through her. Clean. Brutal.
Through her abdomen. Amaris freezes. Her breath leaves her in a soft, broken sound.
Fuma doesn’t process it. Not at first. The world slows. The sounds dull. The battlefield fades.
All he sees is her. Standing there. Eyes wide. Blood blooming across her clothes. Then, she collapses. And suddenly, he’s moving. Catching her before she hits the ground.
“Amaris—” His voice breaks. His hands are shaking. There’s too much blood. Too much. “No—no no no—” Around them, the war still rages. But for Fuma, verything narrows to this. To her. Limp in his arms.
Unmoving. “…Hey,” his voice cracks, desperate now. “Hey—look at me.” Nothing. His chest tightens violently. “No—no, you don’t get to—” his grip tightens, pulling her closer. “You don’t get to do this.” His breathing turns ragged. Frantic. “Stay with me.”
The battlefield burns around them. And Fuma, falls to his knees. Holding her. As the world collapses.
©inkedbysonny
The Harmony Of War
✐ᝰ word count: 11.2k ✐ᝰ genre: fantasy, romance, angst, slow-burn, action, werewolf!maki, half-elf!oc, mythic war, music magic, mate bond ✐ᝰ warnings: graphic violence, blood and severe injury, public executions, hostage situations, psychological manipulation, emotional distress, war crimes, strong language, threats to loved ones, power imbalance, near-death experiences, jo's mate siren! syrena makes a quick appearance ✐ᝰ author’s note: maki’s arc is finally here and oh boy… this one is a little more light hearted in a way because he’s the baby of the pack but somehow ends up carrying one of the heaviest revelations in the war. this arc explores first love, panic, destiny, and what it means to be chosen for something you never asked for. roles are reversed this time and everything goes to hell very fast. this arc can absolutely be read on its own, but it finally reveals the leviathians’ greatest weakness and changes the course of the war entirely. thanks for reading — the hunt is almost over. ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ links to other parts of the Veilbourne saga: part 1 (jo) | part 2 (nicholas) | part 3 (k) | part 4 (euijoo) | part 5 (harua) | part 6 (yuma) | part 7 (taki) | part 9 (fuma)
Maki seriously considered gnawing his own leg off.
Not because he was trapped. Not because he was injured.
But because somehow, for the third time this week, the older wolves had turned patrol prep into a mate bond support group.
“After the war,” Nicholas was saying, leaning back with his hands behind his head, “I’m taking her to the coast. Somewhere quiet. No packs. No expectations.”
Maki rolled his eyes so hard he nearly saw his own brain.
Nicholas scoffed to himself. “Still can’t believe she’s human. Thought the Moon had lost her mind.”
“Didn’t you reject the bond at first?” Harua teased.
Nicholas grimaced. “Yeah. Worst pain of my life. Thought my ribs were being crushed from the inside.”
Maki snorted. Serves you right.
Euijoo nodded knowingly. “I felt the pull instantly. Tried to hide it but… yeah, no. Didn’t work.” He shrugged. “My wolf basically screamed at me.”
Taki smiled faintly. “For me, the pain went away the moment I saw her. Just—” he exhaled, “—pure happiness.”
Jo scratched the back of his neck. “For me, it was quiet. Too quiet. Heart started racing, pain crept in slow.” Then he laughed awkwardly. “Was more scared about bringing a siren home than the bond itself.”
Harua chimed in, grinning. “Well, I just had so much respect for her straight away. Like she closed an open wound on a deer. Isn't that just crazy powerful? Also thought she was insane at times.”
Pause.
“Perfect for me.”
K nodded thoughtfully. “It was the weirdest thing. It was like looking into a mirror. Both of us clutched our chests, same hand, same time. Fell back together.”
“That’s kinda creepy,” Maki muttered.
Yuma grinned, jutting a thumb at himself. “Love at first sight. Moon knew I needed a warrior.”
Maki gagged. “You’re all disgusting.”
No one listened. They kept talking. Laughing. Dreaming.
After the war. After the war. After the war.
Maki stared at the dirt, jaw tight. His ears twitched. His tail flicked once in irritation.
Yeah, yeah. We get it. You’re all blessed. Chosen. Destined. Congratulations. Want a medal?
Beside him, Fuma was just as silent. Their eyes met. A shared look passed between them.
Oh my god, can you believe they’re talking about this again?
Tell me about it. I’m so done with this.
Fuma barely held back a groan but K noticed, “Well?” he smirked. “What about you, Beta? When is it your turn?”
Taki laughed. “Come on, Fuma. You’re one of the eldest wolves. Moon’s gotta have someone lined up.”
Harua gasped dramatically. “Plot twist — the Moon forgot about him.”
“Rude,” Fuma deadpanned.
Yuma leaned in. “Maybe your mate’s just late.”
“Maybe she doesn’t exist,” Nicholas shot back.
The pack burst into laughter. Maki didn’t. He stayed quiet.
Mostly because if he opened his mouth right now, something sarcastic would fall out and he’d get tackled by at least three pack members for “disrespecting the Moon” or whatever. So when Euijoo finally calls them to move out, Maki nearly sighs in relief.
Anything is better than mate talk.
They trek way north for hours, terrain slowly shifting—pine trees giving way to glowing moss, fireflies drifting in lazy spirals, the air growing thick with something sweet and unfamiliar.
Then—
A rainbow.
Maki stops dead. “…Is that a joke?”
A literal rainbow arches between two massive trees, its base dissolving into mist that curls like smoke across the forest floor. The trail glows faintly, as if inviting them forward.
“That’s subtle,” Harua mutters.
They follow it.
Through the mist, past twisted roots, until the forest opens into something straight out of a fairytale.
Treehouses. Dozens of them. Carved into colossal trunks, painted in soft pastels and gold trims, linked by rope bridges and glowing vines. Wind chimes sing gently overhead. Lanterns float without strings.
“…Okay,” Maki admits, “this is kinda sick.”
They expect guards. Crossbows. Magic. A dramatic “HALT.”
Instead, two elves step forward lazily, barely older than them. One chews on a glowing berry.
“Name?” one asks.
“Uh… pack?” Nicholas offers.
“Purpose?”
Euijoo clears his throat. “We’re here on diplomatic business.”
The elf blinks. “That’s vague.”
“…War?”
“Oh,” the elf brightens. “Cool. You’re good.”
And just like that, they’re in.
Maki stares back at the entrance. “That’s it? No spell? No interrogation?”
The elf shrugs. “We vibe check.”
They walk into the village.
And immediately feel the stares. Eyes linger on their ears. Their tails. The faint glow of their pupils. Elves whisper. Point. Smile. Some wave.
“This feels illegal,” K mutters.
Euijoo gathers them near a massive tree trunk.
“Alright,” he says, slipping into alpha mode. “We already know Leviathians have infiltrated this land. Our goal is to find whoever runs this place. Keep low. Don’t draw attention. Sniff them out.”
Maki nods seriously for exactly three seconds. “Question,” he says. “How do we find out who runs this place?”
Silence.
Everyone turns to Yuma.
Yuma shrugs. “No idea. Never been this far north.”
“…You know everything,” Harua says.
“This place is so far up north, we might meet Santa Claus. You think I know him too?” Yuma retorts.
The pack collectively deflates.
“So… we’re just asking randoms then?” Maki asks.
“I guess so,” Euijoo says.
Maki grins. “Say less.” Before anyone can stop him, he grabs the nearest elf by the arm.
“HEY!”
The elf yelps, dropping her bag, musical instruments spilling out. She drops to the floor trying to get her stuff together.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Let me get that for you.” Maki jumps, helping her pick up her many instruments — he counts a flute, an ocarina, a kalimba— oh my gods is that a kazoo? “Holy shit, why do you have so many—“
The elf turns to look at him, brushing her bangs back and Maki’s chest explodes. Not metaphorically. It actually hurts. Like someone reached in and crushed his heart.
He staggers back. His palms press to his chest. Breathing stutters. His ears ring.
The elf just stares. Wide eyes. Pink cheeks. “Oh,” she whispers. “Oh wow.”
Maki struggles to breath, “Sorry, I think— I think I’m having a panic attack.”
“I—um—hi?” she says. “You’re… really handsome.”
Maki’s brain short-circuits.
“Not what I would say to someone who’s having a panic attack but I’ll give you a brownie point because that distracted me for a second.”
The pack freezes. Euijoo squints. Taki slowly lowers his weapon. Yuma’s jaw drops.
Harua blinked. “Is he… dying?”
K snorted. “Again? That’s Maki’s thing. I swear he almost collapsed yesterday just because his sock didn’t match.”
Euijoo pinched the bridge of his nose. “The one thing I asked,” he said, voice low but tense, “was don’t attract attention. And you’re on the floor yelling about a heart attack.”
Maki didn’t care. His hands pressed against his chest. “It’s— It’s real! I’m having a cardiac event! My chest! My lungs! I’m about to—”
“—fall over again, I know,” K interrupted dryly. “Welcome to the Maki Show.”
He presses harder against his chest like he can physically push his heart back into place. “This is a medical emergency. Harua, are you going to do something? Someone—someone get me water. Or a defibrillator. Do wolves have defibrillators?”
“Pretty sure that’s called lightning,” Nicholas mutters.
Yuma leaned against a tree, arms crossed. “Honestly, it’s kind of impressive how consistently dramatic he is.”
Harua shuffled in his duffel bag like nothing was wrong. “I mean… maybe it’s real this time? Probably not.”
Maki’s ears twitched. “You don’t understand, you guys. This—this is serious! My body is betraying me—”
Fuma, ever stoic, rolled his eyes. “It’s just Maki being Maki. No need to panic.”
Maki blinked at him. “It doesn’t feel like ‘just Maki being Maki!’”
Euijoo exhaled. “Focus. Focus on the mission, not your theatrics. Can everyone just… pretend he’s not having a public meltdown?”
The elf crouches closer, completely ignoring the pack full of armed wolves behind him.
“Do you need to sit?” she asks softly. “You look… really pale.”
“I am pale,” Maki gasps. “That’s my thing.”
She laughs. It’s light. Musical. Like bells. And for some godforsaken reason— His heart squeezes again.
Maki actually groans. “Oh come on. AGAIN?”
Euijoo steps forward slowly. “Maki…”
“No,” he snaps. “Do NOT ‘Maki’ me right now.”
Taki’s eyes narrow. “You’re clutching your chest.”
“Wow,” Maki pants. “Thank you, doctor.”
The elf tilts her head. “Is this… normal for wolves?”
“NO,” Maki says quickly. “This is very much a me problem.”
She bites her lip. “I’m Sage.”
Maki blinks. “That’s a… suspiciously pretty name.”
“Thank you?” she giggles.
His ears go hot. Why are his ears hot. WHY IS HIS BODY BETRAYING HIM.
“I’m Maki,” he blurts. “Not dying. Probably. Don’t take my word for it.”
Sage beams. “Nice to meet you, Maki-who-is-not-dying.”
Yuma shrugged. “Honestly, he could’ve met a dragon and I’d still think he’s just… dramatic.”
Maki groaned. “You don’t get it. I think—I think—”
“—you’re having a panic attack,” Euijoo finished for him, voice deadpan. “Yes. We all get it. Now sit up before you make this worse.”
Maki slowly sat, gripping his chest. His ears burned, his heartbeat wild, his brain telling him he was about to pass out—but the pack didn’t care. They were all too busy muttering about how typical Maki this was.
Euijoo clears his throat. “So… Sage. You live here?”
“Mm!” she nods. “Born and raised. I play music around the village.” She gestures to the pile of instruments in her bag.
Maki squints. “All of them?”
“Most of them.”
“Do you carry a kazoo everywhere?”
“Of course.”
“…Respect.”
His heart thumps again. He ignores it.
“Harua. If I have to ask you to help me one more time I swear to the moon,” he mutters. “Holy shit, this is cardio.”
Harua belatedly steps in, his hands glowing around Maki’s chest, the younger wolf letting out breathes out sighs of relief.
Yuma finally steps in, eyes glinting. “Do you know who leads this village?”
Sage nods. “Oh! That’d be Elder Sylva. She lives in that treehouse.” She points. “She’s a really great medic so you can bring Maki-who-is-not-dying there if you want.”
Everyone turns. There it is.
“See?” Maki wheezes triumphantly. “Problem solved. No need for cardiac arrest.”
But when he looks back, Sage is staring at him like he hung the stars.
“You’re really cute,” she says suddenly.
Maki chokes. “Very direct of you.”
“Because it’s true?”
His brain blue-screens. “Okay,” he breathes. “Cool. Great. I’m going to go… not be here.”
He turns and pain shoots up. Sharp. Immediate. He nearly faceplants but Fuma catches him. “…Okay,” he mutters. “That one felt personal.”
Euijoo pinches the bridge of his nose again. “You’re lucky I like you, Maki, because the one time I want you not to scream and flail is right now.”
Maki didn’t hear any of it. He was too busy thinking that maybe, just maybe, his heart was broken into pieces… and also inexplicably giddy.
He just stares at the elf. And thinks— Wow. Panic attacks are weird.
The elf village was a maze, to say the least. Every house looked the same—pastel roofs repeating over and over like some cruel pattern. Sage had pointed out Elder Slyva’s house earlier, but it took the pack winding through alleys and bridges, going in circles as the sun dipped lower, before they finally found it.
Maki’s chest—whether or not his older brothers believed him—felt impossibly lighter once they parted ways with Sage. The way she had looked at him, lingering fingers brushing his arm as she waved goodbye, stuck in his mind. Fire. That’s all he could think. Her touch had burned. And the braids of orange hair framing her face? Yeah… that got to him too. He swore to the Moon he wasn’t lying—he didn’t exaggerate—but if it hadn’t been for the ridiculous panic attack earlier, he might have actually flirted back.
He was so lost in thoughts of Sage that he didn’t notice Euijoo’s low growl.
“Put it down.”
Maki jolted, dropping the sai in his hands like it burned. He blinked and finally looked up, taking in the conversation at Elder Slyva’s porch. Euijoo was speaking carefully, measured, introducing them as a traveling pack of wolves looking to relocate because of the upcoming war.
Maki knew why Euijoo was treading carefully. He remembered too well their previous visit to the Northern pack—how a misstep had almost cost them dearly when Kaelrik, the Leviathian imposter, had posed as the alpha and extracted every bit of information about the eastern front. Ever since then, the pack had learned that they could never assume trust, not even from those who seemed friendly.
Maki’s gaze darted around. Yuma had his eyes closed, listening intently for the faintest shift in breath, the tiniest flinch that might betray a lie. Fuma’s eyes were locked on Elder Slyva, unblinking and calculating. Jo fumbled nervously with his Kyoketsu-shoge behind his back, fingers twitching as if ready to strike at the first sign of trouble.
Elder Slyva seemed… genuinely welcoming. Warm smiles, gentle nods, offering them a place to stay for as long as they needed. It should have been comforting.
But Maki caught the slip—the subtle complacency in Slyva’s eyes. The words that made his wolf sit up in alert.
“No war is coming,” Slyva said softly. “And even if there were, it would never reach our village.”
The pack stiffened. They had learned better than to trust such certainty. Maki’s chest tightened again, but this time it had nothing to do with Sage. The warning bells in his head rang clear: they knew nothing. They trusted nothing. And that meant danger could be anywhere—even here.
Euijoo leaned slightly forward, careful not to loom over the Elder Slyva’s table. “We need to be honest with you,” he began. “There is a war. The Leviathians—creatures capable of infiltrating packs, killing leaders, spreading chaos—they’ve already reached the lands you occupy. We’ve been fighting them for months, and the threat is still growing.”
The Elder Slyva tilted her head, eyes serene. “War? Here? I don’t see it. Everything seems… calm.”
Maki snorted, catching the others’ attention. Euijoo shot him a sharp look, and Maki straightened, but the urge to laugh bubbled up anyway. Calm? They’d literally run for their lives from the Northern pack because of Leviathians.
“Ma’am,” K began, trying to keep his voice measured, “we’re not exaggerating. Our packs—our allies—have been under attack. This is serious. We’ve lost members. You have to understand—”
Slyva raised a delicate hand. “I understand, young wolves, but I assure you, there is no war here. Our village is high in the northern lands. The mountain passes, the forests… you are safe.”
Maki couldn’t hold it in. He laughed. “Safe? You have no idea. We—literally—just fled from Leviathians. And you’re telling us we’re safe?”
The Elder Slyva’s eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a thin line. “M-mistress…?” Maki added nervously, backing a fraction. “I—uh, sorry. I didn’t mean—”
He rolled up his sleeve to reveal the freshly healed scar from a Leviathian bite, pointing to Nicholas’ arm, Harua’s graze, and Taki’s broken spear. “Look. Scratches, bruises, spears snapped. That’s not imagination. That’s Leviathians. We just got away.”
For a few seconds, silence hung in the room. Then, with an almost imperceptible shrug, Elder Slyva said, “You must all be exhausted. Perhaps some rest is what you need.”
Euijoo pressed his lips together and pinched the bridge of his nose. One glance from him was enough to shut Maki up entirely. The youngest wolf muttered under his breath, but the warning growl in his alpha’s eyes reminded him who was in charge.
Slyva’s tone softened. “We have a community dinner service every night. I recommend you join before retiring. It will refresh your bodies and minds.”
And just like that, she left them to it.
The pack exhaled collectively, each wolf trying to process what had just happened.
“She’s… impossible,” Maki whispered, shaking his head.
“She’s naive,” Euijoo corrected, still silent, watching the surroundings. “But not necessarily dangerous. We’ll have to keep an eye on her and the village. But for now… we rest.”
Taki adjusted the straps on his gear, scanning the perimeter. “And hope the Leviathians haven’t already reached further in.”
Harua muttered a quiet, “Figures.”
Maki, still shaking his head but quieter now, muttered, “I can’t believe how sure she sounded. ‘No war here.’ Yeah, right.”
The pack moved slowly toward the dinner area, their ears alert, tails tense, and minds already calculating—this village was picturesque, peaceful, and utterly unaware of the storm fast approaching.
The dinner area is massive. An open clearing beneath a towering tree, its branches strung with glowing orbs like fireflies trapped in glass. Giant iron pots bubble over open flames, thick stew steaming into the cool night air. The scent alone makes the wolves’ stomachs growl in unison.
“Wow,” Maki breathes. “I forgot what food tastes like.”
He doesn’t wait for permission. He grabs a bowl, fills it to the brim, snatches a chunk of bread and immediately starts eating like he hasn’t seen food in years—which, honestly, feels accurate.
Halfway through his third mouthful, he freezes. Orange hair. Braids. …Oh no.
His heart starts doing that thing again. Too fast. Too loud. Like it’s trying to punch its way out of his ribs.
Nope, he tells himself. Not doing this again. Definitely just acid reflux. Or… stew poisoning.
But his feet betray him.
If he had any wolf instincts whatsoever, he would’ve listened to them.
Unfortunately, he is Maki. So instead, he wanders closer, slurping his stew as he goes.
She’s crouched in a narrow alley between two treehouses. You’d miss her completely if you weren’t paying attention.
Why is he paying attention?
So he casually—totally casually—wanders closer, slurping his stew like this isn’t suspicious at all. He pretends to be fascinated by a random leaf on the ground. Very convincing.
She’s playing her kalimba. Soft. Gentle. The melody floats through the air like drifting petals. It’s… really pretty. Like something out of a dream.
“Aw,” Maki thinks. “That’s kinda cute—”
Then he notices movement. Tiny shapes. Critters. Ones he’s never seen before.
Small. Scaly. Some with faint gills fluttering at their necks. Others with glassy eyes. They line up in front of her like they’re at a market stall. One by one, they drop gold coins into her palm.
Maki’s spoon freezes halfway to his mouth. “…Huh.”
He leans closer. That’s when he sees it. Behind them.
A trail of the same critters… sneaking up on unsuspecting elves. Slipping tiny claws into pockets. Unhooking pouches. Snatching coins straight off tables while people are mid-laugh, mid-bite, completely oblivious.
And then, they scurry back. Deposit the stolen gold at Sage’s feet.
Maki jolts so hard he nearly drops his bowl, stew sloshing dangerously close to spilling. He slams a hand over his mouth and whisper-yells, “Oh my gods— YOU’RE A THIEF.”
Sage startles. The kalimba clangs. Critters scatter in every direction like someone yelled fire. Her eyes go wide. “WHAT?! Shh! Don’t—don’t say it like that!”
“That is EXACTLY what this is!” Maki hisses, crouching beside her. “You’re running an entire crime syndicate with squirrels!”
“These are squirrels?”
“I don't know what they are but YOU’RE… you’re literally robbing people.”
Sage flinches. “Shh! Lower your voice!”
Maki points at the pouch at her waist. “That thing is heavy.”
She sighs, shoulders slumping. “Okay. Yes. Technically. But it’s not like I wanted to.”
“Technically??”
“Look—” She rubs her face. “I have school fees. And rent. And food. And elves don’t just give scholarships to random nobodies who play music badly.”
“HEY,” Maki says. “Your music is nice.”
Her lips twitch. “Thanks. But busking didn’t work.”
He blinks. “Didn’t work… how?”
“…Someone screamed.”
“…Like—”
“Like they were being stabbed. Like a demonic yell.”
Maki stares. “Oh.”
“So I stopped playing in public. I thought I was cursed or something.”
He hesitates. “Then… when you told me you play music earlier…”
“I wasn’t lying,” she says quickly. “I do play music. I just… didn’t specify who I play for.”
Maki squints. “That feels like a loophole.”
“Listen, I didn’t plan this,” she insists. “They just showed up.”
“The critters?”
“Yeah. After Elder Sylva came back from her food runs one morning. I was practicing flute and they just… lined up.”
She laughs weakly. “It was the same day I was panicking about tuition. I remember thinking—I’d do anything for money right now—and then suddenly they’re dropping coins at my feet.”
Maki’s chest tightens. Not pain. Not panic. Something else.
“Moon,” he mutters. “That’s terrifying.”
“I KNOW.” She throws her hands up. “I don’t even know what they are! They don’t talk. They just… listen.”
He frowns. “You ever notice the gills?”
“…The what?”
“The flappy neck things.”
"Wait. That’s not normal?”
“No,” he says slowly. “Why would they need gills if they're above the surface? And also you’re really far from any ocean.”
Sage sighs and Maki feels his heart beating erratically again like another panic attack was coming.
“I dont know okay? I had to do something after Elder Sylva made me lose my job.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Well—not directly. The shop owners did. A really sweet couple. Or used to be. It’s like boom, they love me and next, they hate me. One day they just shut down and next thing I know they’re working only for her. Only opening for select people.”
“That’s shady,” Maki mutters.
“I know,” she whispers. “But what could I do?”
He opens his mouth—
“Maki!” Taki’s voice booms across the clearing. “What are you doing?!”
Heads turn. Elves glance over.
Sage panics, shoving the coin pouch under her cloak. Her eyes silently scream please don’t expose me.
Maki doesn’t even think.
“UH—” He laughs loudly. “I got lost! Again! And then I saw her and was like, wow, familiar face!”
Taki squints. “You were gone for twenty minutes.”
“I take scenic routes.”
“You were literally standing still.”
“Call it a spiritual journey.”
Sage bites her lip, trying not to laugh.
Euijoo calls from afar. “MAKI.”
“COMING!” he yells back.
He leans close to Sage. “We’ll talk later.”
She nods quickly. “Please don’t hate me.”
He grins. “Too late. I hate you so so much.”
Her cheeks turn pink.
Maki jogs back to his pack… but his mind stays behind. With her. And the gilled creatures. And Elder Sylva. Something is very, very wrong here.
Maki can’t focus.
Everyone else is laughing. Eating. Relaxing like the world isn’t actively ending.
Euijoo’s throwing his head back at something Harua says. Apparently he once fought a unicorn and almost lost. Fuma is pretending not to listen. K’s already on his second bowl.
Maki pokes at his food. This feels wrong.
Nicholas notices immediately. “You’re being weird,” he says, nudging Maki with his elbow. “And that’s saying something.”
Maki opens his mouth. Closes it. Stares at his spoon. “…Can I talk to you later?” he asks quietly.
Nicholas freezes. That tone. That alone makes his stomach drop.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
They finish eating in record time. The pack stares.
“Did someone poison the stew?” K squints.
“Nope!” Maki says too brightly. “Just… full! Mmm, yum.”
He grabs Nicholas by the sleeve and drags him away. They weave through treehouses, ducking under bridges until they reach a quieter patch of forest.
Maki exhales. “What do we know about leviathians so far? Break this down for me.”
“What?”
“I don’t— I don’t know. I just heard some stuff from Sage—“
“Sage?” Nicholas cuts him off again, “The elf from before? Harmonica girl?”
“Yes,” Maki sighs. “She and I just bumped into each other earlier and we saw critters. Like critters with—“
He barely gets his sentence out before a scream cuts through the air. Sharp. Terrified. Female.
Maki’s blood goes cold.
He doesn’t need wolf hearing to know. “That’s Sage.”
Nicholas barely has time to react before Maki sprints.
They burst through bushes and—
There she is.
Cornered. Four male elves surrounding her. Her back is against a tree. Her hands are shaking. The pouch, now empty is clutched to her chest like a shield.
“I just paid you,” she insists. “I swear it's enough. That was this month’s rent.”
One elf snorts. “Fourth time you’ve been late.”
“I— I had problems—”
“So now there’s interest,” another says lazily. “Rules are rules.”
She opens the pouch desperately, just for it to be empty. “That is all I have. It should be enough, please—”
One steps closer. “You could pay in other ways.”
Maki doesn’t hear the rest. Something snaps.
He launches. Tackles two elves at once, slamming them into the dirt. “GET AWAY FROM HER!”
Nicholas skids to a stop behind him. “MAKI—”
One elf scrambles up. “What the hell—”
Maki shifts just enough for his eyes to glow. His teeth lengthen. “You don’t touch her.”
Another scoffs. “You’re in elven land, mutt.”
Wrong word.
Maki slams him into a tree.
Sage gasps. “MAKI!”
Nicholas finally catches up, claws out. “Back. Away. Now.”
The remaining elf sneers. “You wolves think you own everything.”
“No,” Nicholas says calmly. “But we know what predators look like. You want to see for yourself?”
Maki plants himself in front of Sage without thinking.
She grabs his sleeve. “You didn’t have to—”
“Yeah,” he snaps. “I kinda did.”
The elves hesitate. They weren’t expecting resistance. They weren’t expecting wolves. T
hey weren’t expecting him.
“Go,” Nicholas warns.
They curse under their breath… but retreat.
Maki doesn’t move until they’re gone. His hands are shaking.
Sage stares at him. “…You tackled two grown elves.”
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Adrenaline thing.”
She laughs shakily. “You’re insane.”
“Correct.”
Nicholas slowly looks between them. “…Okay. Now I really want to know what you were going to tell me.”
Maki opens his mouth—
And freezes.
His chest burns. His wolf stirs. For the first time ever, a voice whispers.
Mate.
Maki freezes. “…Who said that?”
Nicholas blinks. “Said what?”
Maki spins in a circle. “Hello?? Show yourself??”
Nicholas slowly raises his hands. “Maki. Buddy. Why are you… summoning ghosts?”
“I’m NOT—” Maki snaps, then flinches. His eyes dart around wildly. “Nicholas who the fuck said that?”
Nicholas’ voice jumps an octave. “WHO THE FUCK IS SAYING WHAT?? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!”
Both of them now stand there like idiots—hands up, eyes blown wide, breathing too fast.
Maki clutches his chest. “I SWEAR someone just said something.”
Nicholas whispers, “Maki, there is no one else here.”
The voice comes again.
Mate.
Maki lets out a sound halfway between a yelp and a sob. “NOPE. ABSOLUTELY NOT.”
Sage stares at them. Slowly. Like she just walked into a cursed forest scene. “…Okay,” she says awkwardly. “Um. Thanks for saving me. Truly. You’re both… very brave.”
She edges backwards. “But I did not sign up to be rescued by a freakishly handsome man who talks to invisible people.”
Maki tries to protest. “Do you seriously not hear that—”
Too late. She turns and runs.
Nicholas doesn’t even react. He’s too busy staring at Maki like he just sprouted a second head. “…Should I get Harua?” he asks carefully. “Or Euijoo. Or— I don’t know— a medium?”
“I’M NOT POSSESSED,” Maki groans.
The voice goes silent.
Maki freezes. “…It’s gone.”
Nicholas swallows. “Oh thank you so much, That… makes me feel way better.”
They stand there in the dark. Just breathing.
“Okay,” Nicholas says slowly. “Explain. From the top. Before I assume you’re cursed.”
Maki rubs his face. “I don’t know. This morning. When I bumped into Sage. My chest— like it was on fire. Couldn’t breathe. Thought I was dying.”
Nicholas nods. “Yeah. You were very dramatic.”
“And it keeps happening,” Maki continues. “Like just now I thought I was having indigestion or something. It hurts but also feels… right? And just now— I heard a voice. Inside my head.”
Nicholas’ eyes widen.
“It kept saying one word,” Maki whispers. “Over and over.”
“…What word?”
Maki swallows. “Mate.”
Silence.
Then—Nicholas slaps himself across the face.“You fucking idiot,” Nicholas breathes. “That’s your wolf.”
Maki freezes. “My… what?”
“And you’ve found your mate.”
The world tilts.
“…No,” Maki says weakly. “That’s not— no.”
Nicholas grabs his shoulders. “YES. You dense bastard. Pain in your chest? That’s your wolf realising a mate bond. Voice in your head? That’s your wolf waking up.”
Maki’s mouth opens. Closes. “…You’re telling me,” he whispers, “my soulmate is an elf?” He manages to say.
Even though he really wanted to say: My soulmate is the pickpocket elf who almost got assaulted because she can’t pay rent?
“Hey, no judgement here. My mate is a human.” Nicholas shrugs. “Destiny’s weird like that.”
“Oh my gods.” Maki sinks to the ground. “Do I… do I tell her?”
“Bro, you’ve just scared her off.” Nicholas gestures at the direction Sage ran off in, “You’ve should have just stopped after you saved her. It would have been cooler that way.”
“This isn’t—“ Maki turns to look at the empty space Sage was just standing at, “This wasn’t supposed to— I was supposed to talk to you about the critters!”
“I take it back, it might not be the wolf after all. You’re still fucking insane.” Nicholas huffs, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The critters!” Maki repeats himself as if it would make more sense. “I saw critters with Sage earlier. I don’t know what they are exactly but they had gills. Like isn’t that just a little bit suspicious to you? When we’re basically at the top of the hills and nowhere near to a body of water.”
“Holy shit.” Nicholas takes a deep breath, “Why didn’t you lead with that?”
“I thought I was going insane because for the first time in my life, I heard a voice that wasn’t mine! Forgive me if I thought I was schizophrenic for a split second.”
“Shut the fuck up, where are these critters? We have to bring them to Euijoo.”
Maki and Nicholas crouch behind a bush like criminals.
“WHY does it have that many legs,” Nicholas whispers, eyes watering.
“Bro it’s illegal,” Maki whispers back. “Nature needs to be audited.”
The critter skitters across a rock. It’s small, scaley, faintly damp-looking, with tiny gills fluttering at its neck.
Maki gag-blinks. “Nope. Nope. Nope.”
They pounce together.
It’s chaos. Leaves fly. Nicholas trips over his own foot. Maki yelps when it brushes his ankle.
“GET IT—”
“I’M TRYING—”
Finally, Maki slams the transparent vial down over it, trapping the creature inside. It bonks the glass once, confused.
Both wolves collapse backward, panting.
“…We just committed a crime against science,” Nicholas breathes.
Maki looks at the vial. “We stole this from Harua.”
Nicholas nods solemnly. “Sorry Harua.”
They sprint.
Euijoo is mid-laugh when they burst into the camp, holding the vial like it’s a bomb.
“We FOUND ONE,” Maki announces.
The alpha’s smile dies instantly. “…Found what?”
Nicholas holds it up. The critter wriggles inside.
The entire pack crowds around.
“What the hell is that,” K mutters.
“It looks moist,” Taki says in disgust.
“Put it away,” Jo says, “it’s making my skin crawl.”
Euijoo takes the vial carefully. He studies it, brows knitting. “What the hell is that?”
“Evidence.” Maki says quickly, “I think this could lead us to whoever’s compromised.”
Euijoo looks up. “Explain.”
Maki takes a breath. “Sage told me these things showed up right after Elder Slyva started doing her morning food runs. They respond to music. They steal. And they have gills.”
Everyone stiffens.
“…Gills,” K repeats.
“Which makes no sense,” Maki continues. “We’re miles from water. Leviathians are deep-sea creatures. I think— I strongly think— Elder Slyva is compromised.”
Silence.
Yuma opens his eyes slowly. “That’s… a big accusation.”
“I know,” Maki says. “But she denied the war. Completely. Like she genuinely believes nothing’s happening. Does she really believe that or is she lying to us? And Sage said the shop she worked at— sweet couple, loved her— shut down out of nowhere. Now they only open for select people. And they’re working directly with the Elder.”
Fuma frowns. “That’s suspicious.”
“Too clean,” Harua murmurs. “Like they were… replaced.”
Euijoo’s jaw tightens. He studies the vial again. “…Good work,” he finally says. “Both of you.”
Maki straightens proudly.
“We’ll investigate,” Euijoo continues. “Quietly. No confrontations. If Slyva is compromised, we need proof.”
Nicholas salutes. “Understood, Captain Alpha.”
Euijoo rolls his eyes but nods.
“Oh also,” Nicholas blurts. “Maki found his mate.”
Silence.
Then—
“WHAT—”
“WHO—”
“WHEN—”
“IS SHE HOT—”
“FINALLY—”
The camp explodes.
Maki turns bright red. “SHUT UP— SHUT UP—”
K whistles. “I thought Fuma would be first.”
“Same,” Jo laughs. “Maknae got lucky.”
“Lucky?” Maki snaps. “I thought I was losing it.”
“Romantic,” Harua teases.
Euijoo just smiles knowingly. “Congratulations.”
Maki tries to hide his grin. Fails completely. But as laughter fills the camp, his eyes drift back to the vial.
To the wriggling, damp little creature inside. And the unease crawls back up his spine. Because if his wolf is right, Sage isn’t just his mate.
She’s standing right in the middle of something very dangerous.
Maki dreams of absolutely nothing.
Which is rare, because usually his dreams involve running, fighting, or Euijoo yelling at him for doing something stupid.
So when the knocking starts, he thinks it’s part of the dream.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Go away,” he groans into his pillow.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“…I swear if this is Yuma—” He drags himself out of bed, hair sticking up in ten different directions, opens the door—
—and freezes.
Orange hair.
Braids.
Soft smile.
Sage.
His brain bluescreens.
“Oh,” he says intelligently.
She lifts a small wrapped container. “Hi! Sorry, I hope I didn’t wake you. Actually I definitely did. But—um—”
He waits. For the pain. For the crushing chest. For the world to tilt sideways. Nothing happens. Instead his stomach does a weird flip and his face feels hot and suddenly he’s smiling like an idiot.
“…Hey,” he says, quieter. “You’re… it’s early.”
“I wanted to thank you,” she blurts. “For yesterday. You and Nicholas. For saving me. And also not telling on me. And also for tackling two grown men at once like some kind of feral hero—”
“Feral?” Maki laughs.
She winces. “In a good way! Like… attractive feral.”
He blinks. “I’ll take it.”
She shoves the container into his hands. “I brought food! Candy porridge. Traditional elf dish.”
He stares at it. “That sounds… illegal.”
“JUST TRY IT.”
He does.
Pause.
“…Holy shit.”
She beams. “Right?!”
“Why is it good,” he demands. “This has no right to slap like this.”
She giggles, visibly relaxing. “I’m glad you like it.”
There’s an awkward pause.
Then she rubs the back of her neck. “Also… I’m sorry I ran off last night. That was rude. You literally saved me twice in one day and I just—disappeared.”
“It’s okay,” Maki says quickly. “You were scared.”
“Still,” she sighs. “I should’ve stayed. Especially since I was the one who hit on you first.”
His spoon freezes mid-air “…You did kind of hit on me.”
She goes pink instantly. “I—well—yeah. I mean. You’re not exactly common around here. Tall, weird eyes, ears—”
“HEY.”
“In a good way!” she laughs. “It’s not every day a handsome dude walks into the village.”
“Wait,” his smile grows unbelievably wider, “You think I’m handsome?”
She looks away, embarrassed. “I literally just said that.”
Maki feels like he might levitate. “Oh my gods,” he breathes. “That’s… wow.”
She peeks at him. “Is that bad? Too straightforward?”
“NO,” he blurts. “No. That’s— that’s great. That’s amazing actually. Thank you for your service.”
She laughs again and it hits him.
This.
This is what they meant. Nicholas. Euijoo. Yuma. K. Harua. Jo. Taki. All of them talking about their mates like the war didn’t exist whenever they were near them.
Because right now, no pain. No fear. No leviathians. No war. Just her. Standing in his doorway. Smiling at him like he’s something special. He understands it now. This stupid, soft, floating feeling.
“…So,” Sage says, rocking on her heels. “I was thinking. If you’re not busy today—”
“I’m busy,” Maki says immediately.
She deflates.
“With you,” he adds quickly. “Busy with you. I mean. If you want. I want. Very much.”
She lights up. “Really?”
“Really.” He grins. “I could bodyslam an elf again if you ask.”
“Please don’t,” she laughs. “I just wanted to walk around. Maybe show you the market. The nice part. Not the sketchy rent-collecting alley.”
“Give me 10 minutes, I’ll be right out.” he says.
And as she turns to walk ahead, he touches his chest. Just to check. Still fine. No pain. Only something warm. Something steady. Something that feels suspiciously like—
Yeah.
His older brothers are never going to let him live this down.
Maki rushes out minutes later in a fit of crimes.
He’s wearing:
Yuma’s oversized hoodie (stolen off a chair)
Harua’s scarf (definitely ceremonial, oops)
One of Nicholas’ gloves (only one, he couldn’t find the other)
His own pants, thankfully
K’s socks
Jo’s shoes
Euijoo’s hair gel
Taki’s cologne
None of it matches. He looks like a walking lost-and-found bin. But he feels hot, so it works.
Sage waits near the steps, and when he finally really looks at her—
Oh.
Her fire-orange hair is braided neatly into two thick plaits, a silver headband resting across her forehead. Her pointed elf ears peek through the braids, catching the light. A soft green cloak wraps around her frame, swaying gently when she stands.
She’s… unreal.
“Wow,” he blurts.
She laughs. “You look like you robbed a wardrobe.”
“Borrowed,” he corrects. “Without consent.”
They start walking, Sage leading through the winding pastel maze of houses.
She talks easily. About her dad. How he’s sick, bedridden most days since her mum passed. “I play for him,” she says softly. “Music keeps him calm. He always says I’m amazing even when I mess up.”
Maki smiles. “That’s dad behaviour.”
“Yeah… I think that’s why I got confident enough to busk,” she admits. “Thought I could earn some money after I got fired.”
“Still mad about that,” Maki mutters.
She sighs. “My old bosses used to check on me and Dad all the time. Now they won’t even look at me when we pass. It’s like they’re different people.”
Maki’s ears twitch.
Noted.
“Did you… know them well?” he asks carefully.
“Yeah,” she frowns. “They changed suddenly. After they started working with Elder Sylva.”
Maki mentally opens a file labelled: SUSPICIOUS AS HELL.
He clears his throat. “So… the busking thing.”
She groans. “Don’t remind me.”
“I only heard a bit of your kalimba,” he says quickly. “But it was really nice. I don’t get why that elf screamed.”
She shrugs. “Maybe my flute skills are worse?”
“No way,” he scoffs. “Even if it was bad, screaming is insane behaviour.”
She goes quiet. “Yeah… it scared me. I haven’t played in public since.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s messed up.”
She tilts her head. “You know what’s weird though?”
“What?”
“That same elf? I saw them wincing every time I walked past them a few days ago. Like… physically hurting.”
Maki stops walking. “…Huh.”
That’s not normal. He files it away. Issue #3 for Euijoo.
They keep walking, laughter slipping back into the air, but Maki’s mind is racing. Shops closing. Bosses changing. Critters appearing. Music causing pain. And Elder Sylva at the centre of it all.
Sage doesn’t notice the way his brows keep knitting together. She’s already skipping ahead, boots crunching over fallen leaves as she leads him up a narrow trail winding higher into the hills.
“Come on,” she calls. “It’s better up there.”
“Is this where you bring all your victims?” Maki pants dramatically. “Because I feel like I’m about to pass out.”
She laughs. “You’re a wolf. Aren’t you meant to be… athletic?”
“Rude.”
The path opens up suddenly. They reach the highest point of the northern hills, where the world seems to stretch forever. Below them, the elven village glows softly — pastel rooftops, lanterns strung between trees, bridges swaying gently in the wind. Mist curls around the roots of massive ancient trees, and the sky is painted in purples and golds as the sun dips lower.
Sage exhales, spreading her arms. “Pretty, right?”
Maki stares. Then glances at her. Then back at the view. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “It is.”
She sits, pulling her satchel onto her lap. Carefully, reverently, she opens it.
Inside is a small collection of instruments:
A polished wooden flute. A kalimba with worn metal tines. An ocarina shaped like a bird. A tiny hand drum with frayed edges.
“They’re my travel set,” she explains. “I’ve got more at home, but these are easier to carry.”
Maki leans closer. “You’re like a one-elf band.”
She grins. “Pretty much.”
His fingers hover. “Can I…?”
“Pick one,” she nods.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Flute.”
She hands it to him, guiding his grip. Her fingers brush his — and his chest flutters but doesn’t ache this time. It feels… warm. Nice.
“Okay,” she says patiently. “Breathe in slowly, don’t puff your cheeks, and—”
Maki blows. A noise comes out that sounds like a dying pigeon.
They both freeze. Then Sage snorts. “Oh my gods—”
“HEY,” he protests. “I’m sensitive.”
“You sound like you stepped on a duck.”
He tries again. WheeEEEeeeK.
“Worse!”
“Stop laughing!”
He tries again. And again. And again. Each attempt somehow sounds more cursed than the last. “I think the flute hates me,” he pants.
“Maybe it’s just being honest.”
He gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “You wound me.”
She takes it from him gently. “Here. Watch.”
She lifts the flute to her lips.
The melody that pours out is soft. Flowing. Ancient-sounding, like the wind whispering secrets through leaves. It curls through the air, warm and hypnotic, wrapping around Maki’s senses. He goes quiet. His wolf stirs — not speaking, just… listening.
Sage’s eyes close as she plays, braids swaying with the rhythm.
Maki doesn’t even realise he’s smiling. Very pretty elf. Very pretty music. Very pretty moment— “…Uh.”
He blinks. From the corners of the hill, shapes begin to move. One. Then three. Then dozens. Small critters crawl out from under rocks and roots. Scaly bodies. Some with faint gills. Too many legs. Shimmering eyes. They gather. Sit. Listen.
Maki stiffens. “Sage.”
She finishes the tune and lowers the flute. They freeze too. She looks around. Blinks. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Maki echoes. “OH?”
“They’ve been doing that every time I play,” she shrugs.
“…Every time.”
“Yeah.”
“Like. Every instrument?”
She nods. “Yep.”
Maki narrows his eyes. “That’s not normal.”
She giggles. “What’s normal, really?”
“THIS,” he gestures wildly, “IS A NIGHTMARE.”
She picks up the kalimba and plucks a few notes. Instantly — the critters shuffle closer.
“See?” she says. “Harmless.”
Maki swallows.
Right. Harmless. Creatures from the deep. Sure.
He lifts the flute again. “Okay. My turn.” He plays. The sound is… questionable. The critters don’t move.
One tilts its head. Another crawls away.
“…They don’t like me,” he mutters.
She laughs. “Guess it’s not the instrument. It’s me.”
Neither of them question it further.
The wind shifts. A distant shout echoes. Then another. Smoke rises from the village.
Maki’s ears twitch. A howl cuts through the air. His pack. Calling.
His smile vanishes.
Sage turns pale. “Hey, that’s near the shop—” She stands abruptly. “My old bosses—what if they’re hurt?”
“I don’t know if they’re even who you think they are.”
“What?”
Maki grips her wrist gently. “Sage.”
She looks up.
He wishes he could keep living this fantasy, one where it was her just her and him on this hill top but his eyes are serious now.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
Her breath hitches.
“We’re not just travellers,” he says quietly. “My pack… we’re here because of the Shattersea war.”
“That’s not funny, Maki.” Her face drains of colour. “What war?”
“Leviathians,” he continues. “Creatures from the deep. They can wear other people’s faces. They’ve been infiltrating packs. Villages. Towns.”
She shakes her head. “Elder Sylva said—”
“She’s wrong,” Maki says softly. “Or she’s lying.”
Sage’s hands start to tremble.
“We think your village has already been compromised,” he admits. “The shop. Your bosses changing. Those critters… they’re signs. Deep creatures.”
“That can’t be true.”
“I know,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”
Another howl. Closer. More desperate now.
“I have to go,” he says. “My pack needs me.”
She swallows hard. “I want to help.”
He cups her face gently. “Stay safe. Please.”
He shifts back, already turning. “Promise you’ll be careful,” she says.
He smiles, soft despite everything. “Always.”
Then he runs. Down the hill. Toward smoke. Toward war. Toward the truth waiting to burn everything open.
Maki reaches the smoke in seconds.
The smell hits him first — burning wood, scorched earth, fear so thick it clings to his lungs. He skids to a stop at the edge of the clearing and his heart drops.
The pack is split down the middle. Half of them are shifted — massive wolves with hackles raised, eyes glowing, bodies tense.
The rest stand in human form, weapons drawn, trying desperately to keep things from exploding.
And surrounding them are a crowd of elves. Dozens. Maybe more. They stand packed together, eyes wide, whispering frantically to one another. Some clutch their children. Others grip each other’s sleeves like anchors. Fear ripples through them like a wave.
Because in the centre of it all is Elder Sylva.
And she is unrecognisable.
The woman who once spoke softly, who mediated every dispute with calm hands and a warm smile, is now screaming. Her hair is half undone. Her face twisted with fury.
She’s shrieking at Euijoo, stabbing a finger into his chest.
“You RUINED everything!” she screams. “Everything I built for this village!”
Maki runs to Jo. “What the hell is happening?”
Jo barely looks at him. “She’s blaming us.”
“For what?”
“She thinks we sabotaged the village. Yuma figured something out and now she’s lost her mind.”
Maki’s chest tightens. “What did Yuma find?”
Jo jerks his chin toward the burning building. “That shop.”
Maki blinks. “Sage’s old job?”
“Yeah. You know what it’s called?” Jo mutters. “‘The Dewdrop Nook.’”
Maki snorts weakly. “That’s… cute?”
“It’s a pun,” Jo snaps. “Dewdrop. Water. Because the whole damn building is built over the village well.”
Maki’s stomach drops.
“The biggest water source in the village,” Jo continues. “Main supply. Everyone drinks from it.”
“They were doing a discreet stake-out,” Jo continues. “Kaelrik said leviathians carve bone sigils underwater to communicate. We didn’t think we’d find anything here — no rivers, no lakes—”
“But the well—”
“Exactly. Yuma heard echoes under the floorboards. We broke in. Found a ladder. Sigils carved straight into the stone. Fresh.”
Maki swallows. “So they are here.”
“We took them. Clean job. No one saw us. But obviously, she suspects us because she has everyone else on a leash here.”
A shrill scream cuts through the air. Sylva spins toward the pack. “DON’T LIE TO ME!” she shrieks. “You think I wouldn’t notice what you did?”
She pulls out another matchstick.
The crowd gasps.
She strikes it against the stone. Fshhhk. Flame. And without hesitation, she tosses it at the building. Fire crawls up the dry wood instantly.
The elves scream. Maki freezes. She’s not using magic. She’s just burning it.
“You will confess!” Sylva yells. “Or I burn every damn building in this village!”
Shock spreads through the crowd.
“No water?” someone whispers. “We’d die,” another cries. “The nearest river is days away!”
Euijoo steps forward carefully. “Elder Sylva. We don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She whirls on him, eyes glistening with fake tears. “Don’t you dare,” she sobs. “After everything I’ve done for you.”
The elves murmur.
“She let them stay…” “She welcomed them…” “We trusted them…”
Sylva presses a hand to her chest, playing the part perfectly. “I extended kindness to outsiders,” she says shakily. “Gave them shelter. Protection. Food.”
Her gaze snaps to the pack. “And they repaid me by trying to poison our only water source.”
The crowd gasps.
Maki stiffens. “That’s a lie.”
She snaps her head toward him. “Oh? Then why were your people sneaking into our well at night?”
“And why would you think it’s us? Maybe if you listened to us about the Shattersea war—“
The crowd gasps.
“LIES.” Slyva screams, “All you wolves do is manipulate. There is no such war here.”
Yuma steps forward. “You’re hiding something. We found—”
“Found WHAT?” Sylva cuts in loudly. “More lies? More excuses?”
Her eyes flicker — calculating.
Yuma hesitates.
She pounces. “Look at him!” she cries to the elves. “They planned this from the start. Why else come here? Why else linger near our resources?”
Whispers grow louder.
“They wanted control…” “They wanted to weaken us…” “They’re wolves…”
She’s twisting it. Every word. Every fear.
She knows about the sigils. She knows they took them.
But she can’t blow her cover so she’s making it look like the wolves were sabotaging the village.
“You should be grateful,” she continues, voice trembling with practiced emotion. “I defended you when others feared you.”
She looks straight at the pack. “And you betrayed me.”
Something in the crowd snaps.
“GET OUT!” someone shouts.
Another voice joins. “LEAVE OUR VILLAGE!”
“GO BACK TO YOUR WAR!”
The chanting grows.
“OUT! OUT! OUT!”
Elves surge forward.
Pitchforks appear. Torches are raised. Some draw bows, arrows nocked, hands shaking but determined.
Maki’s blood runs cold.
K glances at him. “This is getting bad.”
Sylva steps back, letting the crowd do the work now. She watches with cold satisfaction. “See?” she whispers. “Even your own presence poisons us.”
The fire crackles behind her. Smoke coils into the sky. The wolves are surrounded.
Hunted. Once again.
There’s no choice.
Taki is the first to move — his spear slides free with a metallic hiss, point gleaming in the firelight.
Maki doesn’t hesitate. Bones crack. Skin stretches. The shift tears through him like lightning — fur exploding across his body as his wolf form slams into place. Claws dig into the dirt, shoulders rolling, teeth bared.
Haru draws his bow back in one smooth motion, arrow aimed straight at Sylva’s heart.
“Say the word,” he tells Euijoo. “Just say it.”
Euijoo’s jaw is clenched so tight Maki swears he can hear it grind.
They don’t want this. They don’t want blood on innocent hands. Don’t want to hurt civilians who don’t even know they’re being manipulated. All they want is to go home.
But the enemy is right there. Wearing a someone else’s face.
And Maki can feel it in his bones — a sick, crawling certainty. They were so close. So close.
The crowd surges.Someone throws the first stone.
Then everything breaks.
The elves rush them. Pitchforks stab forward. Torches swing wildly. Arrows whistle past ears. The wolves move on instinct — blocking, dodging, pushing people back without striking to kill. Taki spins his spear, knocking weapons from hands. Haru fires warning shots that embed into the dirt inches from feet.
Maki barrels through, shoulder-checking two elves to the ground. He snaps his jaws near a man’s face — not biting, just warning.
Back off.
They don’t. More come. Hands grab at fur. Someone stabs a blade between Maki’s ribs — shallow, but it burns. He snarls, twisting away.
Through it all, Sylva stands untouched. Smug. Watching. Her eyes flash, just for a second. A sickly sea-green glow.
Maki sees it. His heart slams.
That’s a leviathan.
He surges forward to dodge an arrow. And then—
He sees Sage. Running down the hill. Her braid is coming undone, cloak flapping wildly, eyes huge with fear.
“Sage?”
She freezes when she sees the scene — fire, blood, wolves, weapons, “Maki—what’s happening?!”
He sprints to her, shoving past bodies. An idea detonates in his head.
“SAGE—PLAY!”
She stares. “WHAT?”
“Music!” he pants. “Play something!”
She looks around in disbelief. “You want background music while you die on elven grounds?”
“Not like that!” he snaps, dodging a spear. “You have to focus. You listen to you. The critters— they listen to you!”
She blinks. “What are you talking about—”
“JUST TRUST ME!”
Another elf lunges — Maki shoves them aside with his shoulder. “Please. I have an idea and I'm not sure it'll work but,” he growls. “It’s the only way.”
Her hands shake. She doesn’t understand. But she believes him.
Sage reaches into her bag and pulls out a recorder. Fingers tremble as she lifts it to her lips. She plays.
It’s bad. Off-key. Breath too sharp. Notes wobble and die.
Someone nearly tackles her. She stumbles. The sound cuts out.
“FOCUS!” Maki yells across the chaos. “Sage, you can do this!”
Fuma stares at him like he’s gone insane. “MAKI, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
“Trust me!” Maki shouts back. “JUST TRUST ME!”
Sage squeezes her eyes shut.
Breathes. Once. Twice.
She plays again.This time— The melody steadies.
Soft. Clear. It weaves through the smoke like silver thread.
Maki feels it.
Something answers. From the shadows, critters crawl out. Dozens. Then hundreds.
Spill from cracks in the ground. From rooftops. From behind barrels and under stalls.
The elves scream. “What the—?!”
The creatures swarm. Not attacking. Blocking. They climb over legs, yank at boots, tangle around weapons. Arrows go wide. Pitchforks drop. The crowd stumbles back in terror.
“What is she DOING?!”
Sylva’s smile falters. Just for a second. Maki locks eyes with her.
He grins.
Got you.
Sage’s melody swells. It pours across the clearing, sharp and bright and wrong in a way that makes the air vibrate.
And suddenly, there’s screaming. Not fear. Pain.
Elves drop to their knees, hands clamping over their ears like they’re trying to shove the sound out of their skulls. Some sob. Others roar.
But the sounds, they aren’t elven anymore. They’re warped. Broken. Guttural.
Demonic even. The same noise Sage once described. The same noise from that elf who screamed when she busked.
Maki’s blood turns to ice. His heart slams.
Oh my gods.
“It’s hurting them,” Sage gasps between notes, panic flashing across her face. “Maki, what’s happening—”
He doesn’t answer. He’s watching. Watching who screams. Who writhes. Who claws at their own ears like they’re trying to tear them off.
Sylva drops to her knees, shrieking — her voice splitting into something inhuman. Her eyes blaze sea-green, veins crawling up her neck like black cracks in glass.
Around her, some elves convulse.
Their skin ripples. Disguises glitch. Faces warp for split seconds — too sharp, too long, too wrong.
Maki understands. Sage’s music doesn’t just control the critters. It hurts them. It burns leviathians. It exposes them. He doesn’t know how she’s doing it but it’s working.
Maki throws his head back and howls.
“GUYS!” he shouts. “ANYONE IN PAIN— ANYONE COVERING THEIR EARS—”
He points. “LEVIATHIANS!”
Silence.
Just for half a second. Then, Euijoo flicks his gaze across the battlefield. Sees it. Understands instantly. He nods once. “Let’s kill these sons of bitches.”
All hell breaks loose. The wolves move like a storm. No hesitation. No mercy.
Taki hurls his spear — it pierces straight through a screaming elf’s chest. The body convulses and then the disguise melts. Scales burst through skin. Teeth elongate.
A leviathian screeches as it dies, black blood pouring onto the dirt.
Haru releases three arrows in rapid succession.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Thunk.
Each hits a target clutching their ears. Each body collapses. Each reveals something inhuman beneath.
Nicholas shifts mid-run — bones snapping — and slams into a creature trying to flee. He rips its throat out with his teeth, blood spraying across his muzzle.
Fuma tackles another, blade sawing through its neck. The thing shrieks, clawing at his arms before its head comes clean off.
Maki charges. Full wolf. He barrels through a leviathian, jaws locking around its spine.
CRACK.
It drops. He barely slows down.
Another lunges at Sage and Maki intercepts.
He rams it into the ground and tears its face open. Flesh peels back to reveal black scales underneath. It screams. He bites harder.
Until it stops.
Around them, chaos. Normal elves scatter, horrified.
“THEY’RE MONSTERS—”
“THE ELDER— SHE’S—”
“WHAT IS HAPPENING—”
Sage keeps playing. Tears stream down her face but she doesn’t stop. Her music sharpens. Piercing. The leviathians scream louder. Some collapse outright, writhing like their insides are on fire. Others try to crawl away, but the critters swarm them, dragging them back.
Sylva claws at her own face, shrieking. “STOP— MAKE IT STOP—”
Her nails rake through skin. Blood wells up between her fingers.Her glamour flickers violently, scales surfacing and sinking like something trying to crawl out of her body. Her scream twists, turning wet and animal, vibrating through bone.
And then— She moves. Fast. Too fast for something pretending to be an elf. She lunges for Sage.
A hand snatches a fallen torch from the dirt. Flames roar as Sylva spins, grabs Sage by the collar and yanks her back against her chest.
Sage gasps. Her recorder slips from her fingers and clatters onto the stone.
Sylva jams the torch close to her throat, fire licking the air, heat blistering close enough to singe skin.
“SHUT UP!” Sylva shrieks, spit flying. “ONE MORE NOTE AND I BURN YOU ALIVE!”
Sage sobs, hands trembling as she grips Sylva’s wrist weakly.
Sylva’s grip tightens. Her nails pierce skin. “What are you?” she roars. “What kind of filth are you to control us like this?” Her eyes blaze that sick sea-green again.
“I—I don’t know how I’m doing it—” she cries. “I swear—I don’t know—please—”
“You think you’re special?” she snarls. “I SHOULD BURN YOUR HEAD OFF RIGHT NOW AND BE DONE WITH IT!”
The torch inches closer. Sage screams.
The battlefield freezes. No more leviathians left to kill. Just corpses. Smoke. And innocent elves staring in horror.
Maki’s blood runs cold. He shifts back, chest heaving, eyes locked on Sage.
“Let her go,” Euijoo says slowly, stepping forward with his hands raised. “Sylva. Think about what you’re doing.”
She laughs. It’s broken. Unhinged.
“They already know,” she spits. “There’s nothing left to save.” Her dagger slides from her sleeve. She presses the blade to Sage’s throat.
“ONE MORE STEP AND HER HEAD HITS THE DIRT.”
Sage whimpers. Tears streak down her face. “I’m sorry— I’m sorry—”
Maki’s claws dig into his palms.
He looks everywhere for something, anything that could help. And sees Harua. Unarmed. His bow discarded in the chaos, arrows scattered. He’s been fighting with a dagger this whole time after getting it knocked over.
Maki swallows, another idea popping up in his head. Then he looks up.
Fuma. Their eyes meet. Understanding sparks instantly. Distract her.
Fuma steps forward with Euijoo. “We surrender,” Fuma says. “Just don’t hurt her.”
Sylva’s smile spreads. Crooked. Predatory. “Smart wolves.”
She shifts her attention to them. Her grip loosens just a fraction. That’s all Maki needs.
He moves. Low. Silent. Grabs Harua’s bow from the dirt.
His hands shake as he nocks an arrow. His vision tunnels. Sage. Her throat. The torch. His wolf screams inside his skull.
FOCUS. FOCUS. FOCUS.
He lifts the bow. Draws. Shoots. The arrow ricochets off stone. Miss.
His breath stutters as his pack mates try to distract Slyva from the sounds.
Shoots again but the arrow flies just past his shoes.
“Wasn’t there nine of you idiots?” Sylva counts heads, her head snaps around. “Where is he?”
She tightens the blade. “MOVE AND SHE DIES!”
Fuma lunges forward. Euijoo shouts. The pack steps in, dropping weapons, falling to their knees.“We surrender,” Euijoo says. “You win.”
Sylva laughs. Satisfied. “Find the last one.” She turns fully back to them. “So dramatic,” she sneers. “You wolves always think you’re heroes.”
Maki moves again. Slow. Controlled. He draws the bow back. His heart is trying to claw out of his chest.
Forget she’s your mate.
Forget everything.
Just the target.
Sylva launches into her speech. “You thought you could expose us— you thought you could—”
TWANG.
The arrow sinks. Straight through her temple. Her words die mid-sentence. Her eyes widen. The torch slips from her hand. Flames hit the ground. She collapses. Dead before she even hits the dirt.
Sage drops. Maki catches her. She sobs into his chest, shaking violently. “I thought— I thought she was going to—”
“I’ve got you,” Maki whispers. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”
Around them is silence, the villagers stare. The truth laid bare. Bodies. Blood. The elder dead.
Euijoo doesn’t waste a second.
“Yuma. Jo. Taki. Nicholas. Fuma.” His voice cuts clean through the shock still hanging in the air. “Go to the villagers. Check for injuries. Tell them the truth. About the war. About what’s coming. Get them somewhere safe.”
They hesitate. Just for a heartbeat. Then nod.
Weapons are sheathed. Hands turn gentle. They disperse into the crowd, helping trembling elves to their feet, guiding crying children into their parents’ arms. The lie they’d been living under is finally cracking.
Euijoo turns back. “K. Harua. With me.”
They move closer to Maki and Sage.
Sage is still shaking violently, fingers clenched into Maki’s shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. Her face is streaked with tears, eyes glassy, unfocused.
Euijoo crouches in front of her, lowering himself so he isn’t towering over her.
“Sage,” he says softly. “I need to ask you something.”
She flinches.
Maki tightens his hold, instinctively shielding her. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.”
Euijoo nods. “We won’t force you.”
Sage swallows hard.
Euijoo continues gently, “Do you know what you just did? Or how you did it?”
Silence. Her lips tremble. “I—I don’t know,” she whispers. “I swear. I just… I play. That’s all I’ve ever done. The instruments… they were my mum’s. She passed them down to me. She taught me some things before she died.”
Her fingers curl tighter. “I didn’t even know I could… do that. Control them. I didn’t know it would hurt them. It just— started happening.”
Harua kneels too. “Your mum,” he says carefully. “Where was she from?”
Maki feels her heartbeat spike against his chest.
She shakes her head. “I don’t really know. She died when I was little. Dad never talked about her much. I think… it hurt him too much.”
She sniffles. “If it helps… they met at the beach. That’s what he told me. He said she came from the sea.”
The world stops. Euijoo’s eyes sharpen. K’s breath catches. Harua’s pupils widen. Maki feels it before he understands it.
“From the sea,” Euijoo repeats quietly.
Sage nods. “Yeah.”
A pause. Long. Heavy.
Euijoo asks, “Sage… what are your origins?”
Her voice barely rises above a whisper.
“I’m… half elf.”
She swallows.
“…Half siren.”
Everything clicks. Like a puzzle slamming together. The music. The critters. The way it hurt the leviathians. The way it controlled them. Siren song. Not a myth. Not a legend. A weapon.
Euijoo exhales slowly. “We found it,” he murmurs.
Harua looks up, stunned. “A counter.”
“A natural one,” K adds. “Not forged. Not taught.”
Maki looks down at her, eyes wide.
Sage shakes her head frantically. “I didn’t— I swear— I just wanted to help my dad— I just wanted to—”
Maki cups her face gently. “You did,” he says. “You just saved everyone.”
Her breath shudders.
Across the clearing, the wolves help villagers. Some cry. Some stare at Sylva’s corpse in disbelief. The lie is dead with her.
Euijoo straightens. “The war isn’t over,” he says quietly. “But we just found something that can change it.”
He looks at Sage.
“You.”
The night settles strange and quiet after the chaos. Smoke still clings to the air, but the screams are gone. The village feels hollowed out, like it’s exhaling for the first time in years.
Jo kneels apart from the others, pulling out a small seashell from a pouch tied at his waist. It’s smooth. Pearlescent. Warm.
Maki recognises it instantly. Jo’s going to use it to call his mate for help, a fellow siren.
Jo presses it to his ear. “Hey,” he murmurs. “It’s me.”
The shell glows faintly, ocean-blue light rippling across its surface. A familiar voice answers, soft but clear like waves lapping at shore.
“Jo?”
Relief floods his face. “We found something. Or someone.”
The pack gathers close.
Jo explains everything—the critters, the music, Sage, Sylva, the way leviathians screamed like their skin was being peeled off.
There’s a long silence.
Then Syrena speaks again. “The instruments,” she says slowly. “Those are ancient.”
Sage stiffens.
“That's insane, are you saying she's actually playing them?” Jo can imagine Syrena standing up in shock and her hands in her hair. “Those things...They choose their owners. Not everyone can touch them. Not everyone can play them. But when they do… the bond forms.”
Sage whispers, “Choose…?”
“She’s chosen.”
Syrena continues, “Back in the old eras, sirens used them to control leviathian prisoners. We kept them sealed away for millennia. The music binds their minds, breaks their control. But after the last bearer died, the instruments vanished.”
Maki’s throat tightens. “So… she’s the new bearer?”
“Yes.”
Sage’s fingers curl into her cloak. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“I can only be glad that it found you,” Syrena replies gently. “This is a good thing, this could help us! Oh my gods, I gotta tell—”
The shell dims. Jo lowers his hand slowly.
The weight of it all crashes down on Sage. She sinks onto a tree root, face buried in her hands.
“Do you know how it felt?” she chokes. “Thirty. Forty of them screaming inside my head. Like… like something was tearing me open from the inside.”
Maki crouches beside her immediately.
“What if there’s thousands?” she whispers. “What if it kills me?”
No one answers. Because they don’t know.
Euijoo finally speaks. “I understand completely, Sage. Power like that always takes a toll.”
Harua adds quietly, “Magic that old… it doesn’t come without a price.”
Sage starts crying. “I don’t want to be a weapon.”
Maki pulls her into his chest. “It's alright, you don’t have to be,” he whispers. “We’ll figure something else out.”
But even as he says it, he knows. They all do. This might be the only way.
Euijoo rubs his jaw, thinking hard. “We can’t throw her into war unprepared.”
Nicholas snaps his fingers. “Can Syrena train her?”
Everyone turns.
“She’s a siren,” Nicholas says. “She knows this stuff. If anyone can teach her control, it’s her.”
Jo nods immediately. “She’ll protect her.”
“Train her,” Harua adds.
“And keep her safe,” K finishes.
Euijoo looks at Sage. “Would you do it?”
Her breath shakes. “What about my dad?”
Maki stiffens. “We’ll move him. The whole village if we have to.”
Euijoo nods. “We’ll relocate them. Somewhere safe. Somewhere the leviathians can’t reach.”
Sage bites her lip. “I don’t want to leave him alone.”
“You won’t,” Maki says fiercely. “Not on my watch.”
She laughs weakly. “You would do that for me?”
He smiles softly. “Time and time again.”
Silence falls again. Maki’s chest aches—not pain this time. Fear.
“I don’t want you near this war,” he admits quietly. “I don’t want them touching you.”
Sage looks up at him. “I’m scared too, Maki but I don’t want them hurting anyone else.”
Their eyes lock.
Mate.
Euijoo clears his throat. “We’ll protect you. Always. But we won’t cage you either. You are free to make your own decisions.”
Sage takes a shaky breath. “Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll go.”
Maki swallows hard. For the greater good. The moon rises higher. And for the first time since the war began…
They finally have hope.
©inkedbysonny
Shadows Of The Alpha
✐ᝰ word count: 11.9k ✐ᝰ genre: fantasy, romance, angst, slow-burn, action, werewolf!taki, werewolf!oc, mythic war, nature magic, mate bond ✐ᝰ warnings: graphic violence, blood and severe injury, captivity, psychological manipulation, emotional distress, mate bond tension, near-death experiences, power imbalance, war crimes/off-page torture, strong language, forced confessions ✐ᝰ author’s note: bet ya'll thought fuma was going to be next HA taki’s arc finally takes center stage! this one’s tactical, heart-wrenching, and intense—he’s brains over brawn for the first time, facing a foe who isn’t just strong, but deceptive. this time there's not much fight scenes i do apologise because i needed to build on the lore on an emotional level. this arc can absolutely be read on its own, but it sets the stage for the escalating war and the crucial revelations coming in Maki’s arc. thanks for reading—panic, theorize, cry, and fangirl/fanboy freely. the hunt continues. ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ links to other parts of the Veilbourne saga: part 1 (jo) | part 2 (nicholas) | part 3 (k) | part 4 (euijoo) | part 5 (harua) | part 6 (yuma) | part 8 (maki) | part 9 (fuma)
The scrape of metal against stone cuts softly through the forest hush.
Taki sits on a fallen log at the edge of camp, spear balanced across his knees, dragging a whetstone down its length in slow, practiced strokes. Sparks kiss the air and die just as quickly. His movements are methodical. Precise. The way they always are.
A few feet away, Harua flexes his fingers around his bow.
“It pulls clean now,” Taki mutters, not even looking up. “Try it.”
Harua draws. The string hums—smooth, responsive. His shoulders drop in relief.
“Perfect,” he breathes. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Taki shrugs, already turning his attention back to the spear. “It was frayed. Would’ve snapped mid-fight.” His jaw tightens slightly. “Can’t have that.”
This is his role.
Fixer. Sharpening edges. Keeping the pack alive in quieter ways.
Footsteps crunch behind them.
“Pack up.”
Euijoo’s voice carries authority like gravity. No yelling. No need. “We move in two.”
Everyone straightens.
The air feels different now. Colder. Sharper. Northern territory. Even the trees seem to stand straighter here, bark carved with old symbols—warnings more than decorations.
Euijoo paces in front of them, eyes scanning each wolf in turn. “Listen carefully,” he says. “We are stepping onto another pack’s land. That means their rules. Their authority.”
He stops in front of Maki. Then Jo. Then Taki.
“No talking back. No wandering. No striking first. If they look at you wrong, you lower your head and take it.” His gaze hardens. “Their den, their laws.”
A beat.
“We are not here to fight. We are here to ask for help.”
Taki nods quietly.
Euijoo’s eyes flick to the spear in his hands. “Sheathe it.”
Taki hesitates—just a second. Then he slides the weapon into the harness on his back. Bare hands. Open palms.
Submission. Respect.
They start moving.
The forest thickens the farther north they go. Moonlight fractures through branches, turning everything silver and shadow. Every snap of a twig makes shoulders tense. Every scent feels foreign.
Then—
Something whizzes past them.
Fast.
Taki’s head snaps up.
A blur tears through the underbrush. Leaves explode. A sharp gasp cuts through the air. He squints into the dark.
Golden eyes.
A wolf stumbles into a patch of moonlight—fur matted with blood, flank torn open, breathing ragged. She freezes when she sees them.
For half a second, time stops.
Taki feels it.
Not a pull. Not heat.
Something… crooked.
Like his ribs shifted the wrong way.
Her eyes lock on his. Fear. Pain. Recognition?
Then she whimpers. And runs.
“Wait—!” Maki starts.
“Don’t!” Euijoo snaps instantly. “No chasing. We don’t know if what she is.”
The wolf vanishes into the trees, limping hard but fast. Silence crashes back down around them. Taki doesn’t move.
His heart is hammering too loud. His gaze stays fixed where she disappeared, nose flaring, memorising her scent without meaning to.
Blood. Pine. Something warm and sharp—like lightning after rain.
“…You good?” Jo mutters beside him.
Taki swallows. Forces his eyes forward. “Yeah,” he says, too quick. “Just—surprised.”
But his chest still aches. And he doesn’t know why.
“Move,” Fuma murmurs from the back, low and steady. “Before the sun rises again and we have to deal with more leviathans.”
Taki drags his gaze away from the trees, forcing himself to focus. The scent of pine still lingers in his nose, but the den entrance looms ahead now—carved into a rocky cliffside, massive stone pillars etched with ancient runes marking territory and dominance.
And they’re not alone.
Two wolves step out of the shadows.
Massive. Broad-shouldered. Their fur is thick and scarred, ears nicked from old battles. Northern sentries. Their eyes burn amber as they bare their teeth in warning snarls.
Every muscle in the Eastern pack goes rigid.
“Well, feels just like home, doesn't it?” Nicholas mutters.
Euijoo steps forward slowly, hands raised, posture lowered in respect. “We come in peace,” he says clearly. “We are the eastern pack. We’ve traveled a long way and just fought off leviathans. We seek refuge—and alliance.”
The sentries don’t soften. One circles them, slow and predatory. “You crossed without permission.”
“Our apologies,” Euijoo replies. “We didn’t have the luxury of waiting.”
The other wolf growls. “Want to come up with a better excuse?”
“Want to shut your trap?” K retorts.
Tension coils tighter.
Thud.
Yuma’s satchel slips from his shoulder, hitting the ground. Instinctively, he reaches for it.
The northern wolf’s eyes flash. “WEAPON!”
An arrow flies.
It slices through the air, skimming past Yuma’s cheek close enough to draw blood before embedding itself in a tree behind him.
Silence explodes.
“DOWN!” K roars.
Steel sings.
Harua draws his bow in one fluid motion. Maki’s claws extend. Fuma steps in front of Euijoo without hesitation. Taki’s hand is already on his spear before he realises he’s moved.
The northern sentries shift instantly, more wolves emerging from the darkness, surrounding them in a half-circle.
“Stand down!” Euijoo snaps. “Nobody attack!”
A growl rips from Jo’s chest.
“Where’s your alpha?” Euijoo demands, “Let me speak to him.”
“And who are you to be demanding the presence of my alpha?”
Taki freezes mid-step, breath burning his lungs. His grip tightens around the spear but he doesn’t strike. Not yet.
“Your wolf dropped something and reached for it,” the sentry snarls. “That’s a threat.”
“It was a satchel you insolent fuck—” Yuma snaps back, eyes wild. “You almost killed me!”
“Enough!” Euijoo roars. His voice cuts through the chaos like thunder. “We did not come to shed wolf blood. Your blood in particular.”
The northern pack hesitates. Arrows are trained. Claws are out. Every heartbeat feels like it could be the one that starts a war.
Taki’s gaze flickers past the ring of wolves and for a split second—
He sees her.
Half-hidden behind a boulder near the den wall. Golden eyes. Bruised. Bloody. Watching.
His chest twists. The same wrong feeling. She looks at him like she’s begging him not to say a word. Then she’s gone again.
“Taki,” Harua murmurs under his breath. “Eyes front.”
He forces himself to look away.
Euijoo lowers his weapon slowly. Deliberately.
“If you want to kill us,” he says quietly, “you can try it now. But know this—we are already at war. And I remind you, you would be making a big enemy.”
The sentries exchange glances.
One finally growls, “Send for the alpha.”
They’re not led to a war council.
They’re led into a celebration.
Firelight explodes across the cavernous den, a massive bonfire roaring at its centre. Wolves crowd around it, laughing too loudly, clanking carved horns and metal cups together, some already half-slumped against stone walls. Music thumps from a battered drum, someone howling off-key to the rhythm.
Drunk. That’s the first thing Taki realises.
The northern pack isn’t just relaxed—they’re mourning.
And drowning it.
A man pushes through the crowd, a cup sloshing in his hand. He’s tall, scarred, with eyes sharp even through the haze.
“By the Moon—” he laughs, pointing. “Euijoo, right?”
Euijoo blinks, surprised. “You know me?”
“Hard not to,” the man chuckles. “Word travels. Leviathians falling. Borders holding— hey, isn’t your mate the warlock from blackwater cliffs? You’ve got a reputation.”
He thumps his chest. “Name’s Kaelrik. Northern alpha.”
The pack cheers at his name.
Kaelrik throws an arm around Euijoo like they’re old friends. “Shared enemy, eh? I say fuck the leviathians. Sit, drink. We honour the dead tonight.”
Euijoo stiffens at the words. The alpha begins to point out different wolves in his pack, announcing their roles but promptly skipping the second in command role.
Kaelrik waves a hand, gesturing to the den. “You’re among friends here.”
“Who are we mourning?” Nicholas asks and the atmosphere dies down immediately.
The pack takes it in. No visible beta at Kaelrik’s side. No second-in-command shadowing him. Just warriors, sentries, hunters, laughing too hard.
Euijoo’s gaze sharpens. “You do not have a beta?” he asks calmly.
The fire pops.
Laughter dies.
Cups lower.
Kaelrik’s grin falters. “…No.” He stares into his drink for a moment, then raises it. “He fell under this moon.” His voice roughens. “We drink so the Moon Mother may carry his spirit safely. And bless us with a new dawn.”
A few wolves howl softly. But no one explains how he died. No heroic story. No battle cry. Just silence.
Taki shifts uneasily.
As the noise slowly returns, hushed now, Taki catches fragments of whispers.
“—never saw it coming—” “—stabbed him from behind—” “—traitor—”
His ears flatten. Betrayed.
His stomach twists. And then there’s the scent.
Pine.
Sharp. Fresh. Overpowering.
The same scent. From the forest.
His heart thuds.
Kaelrik claps his hands suddenly. “Enough gloom! Tonight we drink for the fallen! Join us!”
Cups are thrust toward them. Euijoo steps forward politely. “We’re grateful for your hospitality, Alpha Kaelrik. Truly. But we’ve travelled far. We’d prefer to rest first.”
Kaelrik squints at him, then bursts into laughter. “Responsible. Figures.”
He turns, slinging an arm around a sentry’s neck. “Oi. Show our guests to an empty room.”
The sentry nods stiffly.
As they turn to leave, Kaelrik’s voice follows them. “Rules,” he calls lazily.
They pause.
“No shifting inside the den,” he slurs. “No roaming alone.” “No weapons near pups.”
His gaze sharpens despite the drink. “Break them… and you answer to me.”
Euijoo nods. “Understood.”
They follow the sentry down a torch-lit corridor.
But Taki lingers a second longer. Breath filling with pine. “Is no one else smelling that?”
“Smelling what?” Maki responds, catching up with the rest of the pack.
“Forget it,” Taki shakes his head, “I think I need some sleep.”
And he did need some sleep. After washing up with some moonlit water, sleep takes Taki hard that night.
Not the peaceful kind. The pulling kind.
He dreams of amber eyes.
Sharp. Watching.
A wolf curled tight inside a narrow cave, blood crusted into her fur, breath shallow but steady. The smell of pine is overwhelming. She lifts her head when he approaches—doesn’t snarl, doesn’t flee.
Just looks at him. Like she knows him.
Taki tries to inch closer to see her face but he wakes with his heart racing.
And the feeling doesn’t fade.
Morning comes too fast.
Taki barely finishes rubbing sleep from his eyes when Euijoo’s voice echoes through the room. Patrol duty. Immediate.
He’s paired with K.
They move through frost-bitten earth and towering trees, weapons sheathed but senses sharp. Northern borders are quiet—too quiet.
Taki hesitates before asking, “Can I… ask you something?”
K hums. “Depends. Is it stupid?”
“…No.”
That alone makes K glance at him, “Oh my gods, what did you do?”
“Nothing!” Taki raises his hands like he was surrendering. “I just wanted to ask something.”
“Okay,” K shoots an unamused look, “What is it?”
“You and Lyra,” Taki starts. “The mate bond. How did you know?”
K smiles faintly. “We felt it at the same time.”
“Just like that?”
“We both knew it was each other at the same time I’m assuming, because we are both wolves. Maybe it was different for Nicholas and Yuma because their mates are a different species but I’ve heard pretty similar things.“
“Like what?”
“Like feeling the bond is like being struck by lightning,” he says. “Her dad came with their pack for alpha business. I walked past her and—” He taps his chest. “It felt like my heart split open.”
Taki swallows. “So it hurt?”
K snorts. “Gods, yes. Thought I was dying. My wolf went feral. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. I thought someone had stabbed me but the pain eased when I made eye contact and accepted that it was fate.”
“Is there anything else you feel other than pain? Like,” Taki fumbles around with his hands, “I don't know...smell?”
“Smell?”
“Yeah, like did you smell her in places even when she wasn’t there?”
“You’re awfully curious today, kid.” K chuckles. “No, I don’t think so. Wait, Taki do you think you—“
But voices drift through the trees. Two northern wolves pass by, shoulders brushing past them without even a greeting.
“—alpha wants her found,” one mutters.
“Good. Someone needs to check her conscience. Our beta didn’t deserve that.”
Taki freezes.
“What if she already fled?” the other says.
“Heard she’s still lingering near our territory.”
His breath catches. “Are you guys talking about a runaway wolf?” Taki spins around.
“I saw a wolf,” he blurts. “When we arrived. She was injured. Ran before we could say anything to her.”
The northern wolves stop. Slowly turn.
Regret hits him like a wall. The wolf in him begs him to stop talking.
“Describe her,” one growls.
“Amber eyes,” Taki can’t help himself. “Blood-matted, but I think she had white-grey fur? She looked… scared.”
The wolf’s jaw tightens. “That’s her.”
K stiffens beside him, “What happened?”
“She’s dangerous,” the other wolf snaps. “Traitor.”
Taki’s heart hammers. “What did she do?”
They hesitate. “Broke ancient pack law.”
“Which law?” K demands.
The wolves exchange glances. “We’re not supposed to say.” But they lean in closer after looking around to see if anyone was near.
“An ancient pack law is that no wolf may kill or challenge an alpha or a beta with our a formal trial,”
Taki and K nod, all too familiar with the pack laws. An alpha and beta is chosen carefully amongst the pack themselves, along with a blessing from the Moon. An alpha and beta work together closely to keep their pack on the right track and the core of every pack.
“We had to exile her from the pack because…” the wolf sighs heavily, “because she killed our beta.”
Taki’s breath stutters. K swears under his breath.
“It was totally unprovoked!” The wolf flails his arms as if to emphasise his point, “I mean I think a screw in her head got loose or something. That morning we woke up to our beta’s corpse near the fireplace and her all bloodied and demanding Kaelrik and everyone in the pack to listen to her.”
“Kaelrik exiled her from the pack but she wouldn’t leave without a fight,” the other wolf continues. “Safe to say, we all ganged up on her and she finally left bleeding and all.”
“But if you saw her, then she’s probably still out there. We gotta tell Kaelrik!”
Taki’s mind spins. A sense of wrongness creeping in and planting a space in his chest.
Oh gods, what have I said?
The forest feels heavier.
Taki can’t shake the image in his dream away: of a wolf bleeding. Curled in a cave. Still alive.
And suddenly… the dream makes sense.
The wolves run away to tell their Alpha and K clears his throat. “Woah, can you believe it? A wolf killing their beta? I can’t ever imagine that happening.”
Taki doesn’t answer. His mind is racing but his body stops dead in his track.
“Taki? Taki, what’s wrong?” K shakes him by his shoulders. “Dude.”
Taki blinks. Forces himself back into the moment. “…Nothing,” he mutters. “Just tired.”
K squints but lets it go. “Try not to fall asleep on patrol. Those northern wolves will eat you alive.”
They keep walking. But Taki can’t shake it. The amber eyes. The blood. The way she ran away instead of attacked.
Traitor, they said. But something about it sits wrong in his chest.
That night, the den is loud.
Laughter echoes off stone walls. Cups clink. Wolves shove each other playfully. The northern pack is still in mourning, but grief here looks like celebration — loud, reckless, desperate.
Taki barely touches his food. His eyes keep drifting. To the two wolves from earlier. He watches them whisper. Watches their heads turn toward Kaelrik. Watches their shoulders stiffen like they’re preparing to report something. His stomach twists.
Don’t, he thinks. Please don’t.
He doesn’t even know why he cares. He barely saw her face. But his gut screams at him — something isn’t right. Something is missing. Like they’re all swallowing half a story and calling it truth.
His gaze slides to Kaelrik. The alpha looks… normal. Laughing with Euijoo. Talking strategy. Slapping wolves on the back. Acting like a leader.
But Taki has been watching him all day. He notices the limp first. How Kaelrik favors his left leg. How his jaw tightens when he stands. How he chooses to sit instead of sparring. How sweat beads at his temple after walking too far.
A warrior who avoids movement.
That’s not nothing.
Injury, his mind whispers. From what? The exiled wolf? But wolves would have regenerated by now, or a healer from their pack would have helped. So why…
Kaelrik catches him staring once. Their eyes meet. Taki looks away fast. Heart hammering.
The two wolves never approach Kaelrik. Not tonight.
Relief washes through him so suddenly his knees feel weak.
When the den finally quiets and everyone drifts to sleep, Taki lies awake staring at the ceiling.
This is stupid, he tells himself. You don’t know her. You don’t owe her anything.
But the pine scent lingers in his memory. Sharp. Clean. Wrong to be alone.
Fuck it.
He rummages through Harua’s bag, taking a few rolls of bandages and ointments and slipping it quietly inside his pockets before slipping out quietly. Bare feet against cold stone. He doesn’t tell anyone. Doesn’t even fully know why he’s doing this. Kaelrik had clearly said no wandering out alone but Taki couldn’t find himself caring.
Only that his chest aches with it. And the fact that Harua was most defintely going to give him hell for taking his herbs.
Outside, the forest swallows him whole. He follows the scent. It’s faint. Almost gone. But he tracks it like a thread pulled tight through his ribs.
Deeper. Higher. Colder.
The path narrows into a steep ridge. Rocks jut out like broken teeth. A dark slit opens in the cliff face.
A cave.
The same one from his dream.
The pine scent is strongest here. His heart races.
“She’s here,” he breathes.
He steps forward and his foot slips.
The world drops out from under him. He screams as he falls, fingers scraping uselessly against stone. Darkness swallows him whole. “For the love of—“
He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. Oh god, this is karma for taking Harua's shit, isnt it?” he gasps. “I won’t do it again—just—please—”
A hand grabs his wrist. Hard. Firm. He jerks violently.
“Don’t fucking move, I'm legit trying to help you!”
K’s voice.
Taki’s eyes snap open.
K is braced against the rocks, muscles shaking as he hauls him up inch by inch. “Taki you idiot,” K growls. “You trying to die?”
Taki sobs a laugh as he scrambles back onto solid ground. “You followed me?”
“Yeah,” K pants. “You’ve been weird all day. Thought you were sneaking off to cheat on us with a different pack or something.”
Taki wipes his face. “Sorry to disappoint.”
K’s eyes narrow. “Why are you out here?”
Taki hesitates. Then looks at the cave. “…I think she’s here.”
K stiffens. “The runaway?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you actually insane?” K huffs, hands messing up his hair in frustration. “Why in the Moon’s name are you searching for a wolf who killed her own beta? What if she kills you too?”
“I don’t know,” Taki admits. “I just had to come and see for myself.”
“To see how you die?” K had his hands on his hips now, like a disappointed wolf scolding his pup. “Man, I should have just let you fall to your death. What were you thinking?”
Silence stretches. “…Shit,” K mutters. “Taki, there are more important things at stake right now. If you wanted to meet women—“
“What?! No!” Taki waves his hands in protest, “Gross. You think of me like that? That’s so—“
Something moves inside the cave that catches both wolves’ eyes.
A low, warning growl echoes out. Taki’s breath catches.
Amber eyes glow from the dark.
K grips Taki’s arm hard. “We need to run. Now.”
Taki doesn’t move.
“Taki—”
“I’m not here to hurt you,” Taki says instead, voice loud enough to carry into the cave. His hands lift slowly, palms open. “I swear. No weapons.”
K stares at him like he’s lost his mind. “Oh, you are insane—”
“Please,” Taki murmurs. “Trust me.”
K curses viciously but raises his hands too. “If I die, I’m haunting you. For eternity. I’m talking knocking-things-over, whispering-in-your-ear levels of haunting.”
A low growl answers them. She steps out. The exiled wolf. Her fur is still soaked dark with old blood, clumped and stiff. Gashes line her ribs, her thigh, her shoulder — some barely closed, others still seeping. Every breath looks like it hurts. Her golden eyes flick up once… then away.
She shifts.
Bones crack softly as she takes human form.
She’s pale. Too pale. Pitch-black hair spills over her shoulders, silver strands threaded through it like frost. Her knees almost buckle when she lands. She steadies herself against the cave wall, breathing hard.
Taki swallows. “I—I have bandages,” he says gently. “Ointment too. I’m going to reach into my pocket, okay?”
K hisses. “Did you fucking steal that from Harua?”
“Borrowed.”
“Taki, he literally counts his herbs.”
“I’ll replace them!”
The girl watches him carefully. Every muscle tense. Ready to bolt.
Slowly, he reaches in and pulls out the cloth and small vial. He holds them out.
She steps closer, palm up.
Their fingers brush. It hits them both at once. Pain explodes through Taki’s chest like lightning, white-hot and blinding. His vision spots. His knees hit stone. Hand clutching his heart. It feels like something snapped inside him.
She stumbles back too, choking on a sharp breath, eyes wide with terror. “What—” she whispers.
K jumps between them instantly. “Alright now. Hands where I can see them—”
Then he looks at Taki. Taki is on the ground, shaking. Then he looks at her. Same thing. Both clutching their chests. Both gasping. Both staring at each other like they’ve just seen a ghost.
“Oh,” K breathes. “Oh shit.” His eyes widen. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Taki looks up slowly. “…K?”
K drags a hand down his face. “You’re mates.”
Silence crashes over them. The girl’s face drains of colour.
“Of course. You going on about smelling your mate even when she isn't near. No wonder you wanted to come here. You're so....” Taki doesn't listen to K drawling on. Instead he zeros in on the girl's face and how she's clutching her chest.
Taki’s wolf finally speaks.
Mate. It whispers to him.
Taki laughs weakly.
He had a thousand cooler things he could’ve said. Something smooth. Something mysterious. Like oh my gods, I knew it! Or K was right, it does feel like my heart is being sliced open. Or even a smooth, yeah, we’re mates. Followed by a cool, My name is Taki by the way.
Instead, what comes out of his mouth is: “YES! A LOVER, AT LAST.” And him randomly pumping his hand up to the sky.
His mate however, reacts differently. Her breath stutters. “Who are you?”
Oh right. Curse the Moon, you fucking idiot. You didn’t even introduce yourself.
“I’m Taki. And that’s K. We’re from the eastern pack and we were seeking refuge from the Northern pack.” Taki finally finds it in himself to be a normal wolf. “We’re asking for help. An alliance to win the Shattersea War against the leviathans.”
“You’ve come a long way,” she says flatly. “But they are not who they say they are.”
“I know they say you killed their beta,” he says quietly. “But my gut says it’s not the whole truth.”
Her jaw tightens.
K steps back slightly, giving them space. “Okay. I’m just gonna… stand here. For moral support. And in case someone tries to murder someone.”
The two mates ignore him completely.
She looks between them, torn. “…I didn’t murder him,” she whispers.
Taki’s chest aches. “Then tell us.”
Her shoulders sag. Like she’s been holding this in for too long.
“The reason why I say, they are not who they say they are is because,” She brushes her matted hair back with her hand, “my pack has been compromised. The alpha is not the real Kaelrik. That is a leviathan.”
The cave is quiet except for the sound of her breathing.
Ragged. Uneven. Like every inhale hurts.
She sinks down against the stone wall, dragging her knees to her chest. For a moment she just stares at the dirt, jaw clenched, eyes shining like she’s holding back something that’s been rotting inside her for weeks.
“The leviathians didn’t always shapeshift,” she finally says.
Taki stiffens. K does too.
“They’d been trying to breach our borders for weeks,” she continues. “Wave after wave. We barely kept them out. Lost wolves. Lost ground.” Her fingers dig into her sleeves. “But we knew how to fight them. We knew what they looked like.”
She laughs bitterly. “Until we didn’t.”
Her gaze lifts. “One afternoon… the sun was still up. Everything felt normal.”
Her voice drops. “And then suddenly— they changed.”
K’s breath catches. “They… shifted?”
She nods slowly. “Faces. Bodies. Voices. They wore us like skin.”
A shudder runs through her. “Hours before, they couldn’t do it. Not once. And then—”
Realisation slams into Taki and K at the same time. Nova. The warlock. The bargain for Euijoo’s safety.
K swears under his breath. “That timing—”
“It turned into chaos,” she continues. “We didn’t know who to protect and who to kill. Some of them screamed when they shifted— bones cracking, muscles tearing. You could tell it hurt them. But on a battlefield?” Her lips twist. “Everyone’s in pain.”
Her hands start shaking.
“But when the sun set…” she whispers. “Only one of them stayed shifted.”
Taki’s heart pounds. “Kaelrik.”
She nods.
“There’s apparently a curse,” she says hollowly. “If they don’t shift back before dusk… they’re trapped. Stuck in that skin forever. In pain. Always.”
Silence.
“I saw him fighting our beta. The real Kaelrik had died trying to protect him.”
K’s jaw tightens.
“They were alone. Near the ridge.” Her eyes glaze, reliving it. “I tried to reach them but—” Her voice breaks. “I was too late.”
Taki’s breath stops.
“He died in my arms,” she whispers. “Bled out. Right there.”
Her hands curl into fists. “And the thing wearing Kaelrik’s face?” Her eyes burn. “It wasn’t done.”
She swallows. Hard. “It saw me watching.” A pause. “And it tried to drag me back to their dungeon.”
K stiffens. “You fought it.”
She nods. “Barely. I tore myself free.” Her voice cracks. “I took my beta with me. I couldn’t leave him there. I couldn’t.”
Taki feels sick.
“I ran all the way back,” she continues. “I thought— if I showed them his body, if I told them what I saw— they’d believe me.”
Her laugh is broken. “But he was already there.”
Taki’s blood runs cold.
“Already sitting in the alpha’s seat,” she whispers. “Already barking orders. Already twisting the story.” She looks up at them, eyes shining. “And there I was. Covered in blood. Carrying my beta’s corpse.”
Her voice trembles. “It was easy for him. He called me unstable. Said I snapped. Said I murdered him in cold blood.”
K exhales shakily. “And they believed him…”
“They had no reason not to,” she whispers. “Not when he wore my alpha’s face.”
“He exiled me.” Her shoulders sag. “And now they’re hunting me.”
Silence crashes over the cave.
Taki feels something cold settle in his stomach. “So you didn’t break the law,” he murmurs. “You were framed.”
She nods once. “By a monster.”
K runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”
Taki looks at her, really looks. At the wounds. At the exhaustion. At the loneliness.
“And the whole pack,” he whispers, “is being led by a leviathan.”
Her eyes soften slightly. “Now you understand. I’ve been circling back to the den for days, the leviathans wouldn’t attack this den when they have one in the pack gathering intel. It’s the safest for me out here.”
Taki’s wolf growls low in his chest. Because suddenly this isn’t just about her.
It’s about an entire pack trapped under a lie. And his pack just got dragged in too.
K exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It… sounds believable,” he admits. “But you have to understand— anyone could say this. In a war like this—”
Taki snaps. “Are you serious right now?” he barks. “You think she’d make this up? You think she’d let herself get exiled, nearly bled out, live in a cave like some hunted animal just for fun?”
K holds up his hands. “I’m not saying she’s lying. I’m saying we can’t be stupid. We need proof.”
“My gut says she’s telling the truth,” Taki fires back. “And my gut has never been wrong about—” He stops mid-rant. “…Wait.”
Both of them blink.
Taki turns slowly to her. “I— um.” He clears his throat. “What’s your name?”
Her lips twitch. “You just realised that now?”
“YES, OKAY, SUE ME, I’M UNDER A LOT OF EMOTIONAL STRESS.”
She exhales a soft laugh. “It’s Onyx.”
The name settles into him like something sacred. Onyx. His heart stutters. Again. Like it approves.
“…Onyx,” Taki repeats quietly. Something about it feels right. Then he whirls back to K, fire reignited. “Onyx didn’t risk her life just so you could doubt her, alright?”
K sighs. “I really want to believe you. How can we believe you?”
She pushes herself upright, wincing. “Every morning. As soon as the sun rises, Kaelrik goes back to the leviathian dungeons.”
Taki stiffens.
“He briefs the leviathians there,” she continues. “Gives them updates. Orders. The last time—” Her eyes flick to Taki. “He told them your pack arrived.”
K’s stomach drops.
“So I hope you guys haven’t told him anything important,” she warns. “No troop numbers. No routes. No strategies. Nothing.”
Taki feels cold creep up his spine. “…Euijoo’s been meeting with him,”
K swears. “Fuck.”
Realisation crashes over them.
“Right...Well, whoever Euijoo is, maybe you should tell him to stop.” Onyx grabs the vials of ointment and starts applying them while she’s talking to the two wolves.
The bonfire. The drinks. The casual questions. The friendly alliance talks.
“How much have we already told him?” K whispers.
Taki’s chest tightens. “Too much.” He watches Onyx struggle with wrapping the bandages around her arm and wordlessly helps her, the mate bond humming in satisfaction when they touch again.
Onyx’ voice is soft. “If you want proof,” she says, “the sun is about to rise in a few hours, you could follow him and see what he says.”
K nods slowly. “If he really goes to the dungeon…”
“…Then you’ll know,” Onyx finishes.
It took Taki far too long to agree to leave Onyx behind.
“I’ll be safer there,” she’d insisted, leaning weakly against the cave wall. “Leviathians won’t attack the den if one of theirs is inside. It’ll draw too much attention.”
“I don’t like it,” Taki had muttered for the tenth time. “You’re injured. Alone. In a cave.”
“I’ve been alone for weeks,” she said gently. “I’ll manage a few more hours.”
K had to physically drag him away.
Now they’re back.
Night blankets the Northern camp, quiet except for soft snores and crackling embers. They stand at the foot of their alpha’s bed.
Euijoo.
Tall even while lying down, his legs stick awkwardly out from the blankets, one arm flung over his eyes like he’s blocking out the world itself. He snores loud enough to scare off small wildlife.
K leans in, whispering. “You wake him.”
“No way,” Taki hisses back. “You’re older. You have seniority.”
“That’s exactly why you should do it,” K shoots back. “I’ve lived longer. I deserve peace.”
“Wow. So you’re saying your life is more valuable than mine?”
“I’m saying I’m closer to death already. Don’t speed it up.”
They glare at each other.
Taki gestures at K. “You do it.”
K shakes his head. “You do it.”
Their whispering grows… less whispery.
“He’s gonna rip our heads off!”
“YOU’RE the one who wanted to come back now!”
“BECAUSE THIS IS IMPORTANT!”
“EVERYTHING IS IMPORTANT TO YOU!”
A loud snort cuts them off.
Nicholas stirs. Red hair explodes in every direction as he jolts upright. “Shut up—” He grabs the nearest pillow and hurls it blindly into the dark.
It sails. Misses K. Misses Taki. And smacks Euijoo square in the face.
“What the flying fuck?” Euijoo groans, sitting up. “Who the fuck did tha— oh gods, why are you two so close to my face?” He swats at the two wolves who are inches away from him.
K coughs. “Alpha. Sorry to wake you.”
Euijoo squints at them. “It better be important or I’m banishing both of you to latrine duty.”
Taki freezes.
K nudges him. Hard. “Tell him.”
Taki opens his mouth. Closes it.
“…So,” he starts weakly. “Hypothetically—”
“No,” Euijoo snaps. “Never start a sentence like that.”
K sighs and jumps in. “Kaelrik might be a shapeshifted leviathian.”
Dead silence.
Euijoo stares at them. “…I beg your finest pardon?”
They explain. Everything. The exiled wolf. The beta. The dungeon. The meetings at sunrise. The warning.
And the name of the exiled wolf, also Taki’s mate. “Onyx,” Taki finishes quietly.
Euijoo’s face drains of colour. He rubs his eyes hard. “So you’re saying… I’ve been sharing information with a monster.”
K nods grimly. “And not just small talk.”
Realisation hits Euijoo like a physical blow. The drinks. The laughter. The strategies. The loose tongue. “…I told him where our mates are,” Euijoo whispers.
Nicholas stiffens. “What?”
“The sirens. The warlocks. The fae. The dryads,” Euijoo says hoarsely. “We talked about it last night. I thought— I thought we were bonding. Building trust.”
His hands shake. “I told him routes. Rest points. I’m a fucking idiot.” Euijoo’s jaw tightens. “I basically handed him a map to our people.”
Silence crushes the room.
“Then we leave,” Taki says. “Now. We need to find out what else he's been saying.”
Euijoo nods slowly. “It needs to be a small group. I need a recon and at least 2 sentries with me.”
K holds up his hands as if to say ‘not it’ and Euijoo waves his hand dismissively at K. “I wasn’t going to ask you to come along anyways. Taki, you’re with me. Wake Yuma and Fuma up.”
Soon, dawn bleeds slowly into the forest.
Pale gold filters through frost-laced branches, painting everything soft and deceptively peaceful. Birds chirp. The world pretends nothing is wrong. Taki hates it.
They’re already hidden in the treeline when the northern den stirs. Euijoo crouches low, Yuma and Fuma flanking him, a few steps behind with Taki. No one speaks. Every breath feels too loud.
Then Kaelrik emerges.
Even though they expected it, the sight still punches the air out of Taki’s lungs.
The alpha moves carefully, one step at a time. His limp is obvious now. His jaw clenches with every shift of weight. His hand presses briefly to his side like he’s trying to hold himself together.
A leviathian pretending to be a wolf.
Taki swallows. So it’s true. They watch as Kaelrik glances around, slow and deliberate, before slipping into the trees. He moves toward the northern slope — away from patrol routes. Away from the pack.
Euijoo signals with two fingers.
Follow.
They keep their distance, melting into shadows, stepping where he steps, timing breaths to his pace. The forest feels different in the early light.
Too quiet. Too aware.
Taki’s heart pounds. A part of him still hopes. Hopes that Onyx lied. Hopes this is a coincidence. Hopes this isn’t real. The past few months have been brutal. Endless fighting. Endless loss. Endless waiting. Watching his pack find their mates only to be torn away again by war and duty.
Wrong timing. Always.
Taki hasn’t even had time to process that he has one now. That she’s out there, bleeding in a cave, branded a murderer.
Kaelrik stops suddenly.
They freeze.
He bends forward slightly, breathing hard. His face twists like something inside him is tearing apart. He grips a tree trunk until his knuckles pale.
“How does he hide this from the pack?” Fuma whispers.
“Come to think of it, I've never seen him as a wolf. He doesn't spar with his mates. ” Yuma mutters. “Hope he burns in hell.”
After a moment, Kaelrik straightens and keeps walking. Downward. Toward stone.
Taki’s stomach drops. The entrance appears soon after — a narrow crack in the cliffside, half-hidden by vines and roots. A cold draft spills out. The dungeon.
Euijoo’s eyes darken. He lifts a fist.
Stop.
They crouch behind fallen logs and rocks as Kaelrik slips inside without hesitation.
Gone.
For a long moment, no one moves. Then Fuma exhales shakily. “Holy shit.”
Taki feels lightheaded. “Onyx was right…”
“Alright,” If Euijoo felt betrayed, none of it showed on his face. “Yuma, you ready?”
“Ready.”
No bravado. No jokes. Just focus.
He’s smaller than most of them, lean and built for slipping through cracks. It’s always been his advantage. While others rely on strength, Yuma relies on silence. On listening.
He moves.
Melting into the shadows, he approaches the dungeon entrance with slow, careful steps. Every crunch of frost makes his heart jolt, but his training holds. He times his breathing. Waits for the wind to howl before shifting his weight.
Inside, it’s cold.
Stone walls sweat with damp. The air smells wrong — briny, metallic. Not wolf. Sea.
Yuma presses himself against the wall and closes his eyes.
Listens.
Voices echo deeper inside.
“…strike now or never.”
Kaelrik.
Fake Kaelrik.
Yuma’s blood runs cold.
“There’s no need to wait,” the leviathian says smoothly. “They’ve already sent their healer dryad back east. A court of fae too. Running to gather allies.”
A harsh laugh. “Too late.”
Yuma’s jaw tightens.
“And sirens under the water. You hear that?” Fake Kaelrik sneers. “Some wolf in the pack’s mate or something. It's a whole royal court of sirens. That makes the coast vulnerable. They have allies.”
Another voice murmurs agreement.
“And the human village?” Kaelrik continues. “Defenceless. Council in shambles. No order. No protection.”
Yuma’s nails dig into his palms.
“Time to strike,” Kaelrik says. “Burn the east before they can regroup.”
Then his tone shifts — mocking. “And that runaway bitch,” he spits. “Still alive, apparently. Onyx. I can’t seem to get rid of her. I’ve got my pack hunting her down like dogs. Gods, they’re so easy to control.”
Laughter ripples through the room.
Yuma swallows bile.
“I have them wrapped around my finger,” Kaelrik boasts. “And the eastern pack?” He chuckles. “Earnest yet gullible. Their alpha practically hands me their secrets over drinks.”
Yuma sees red.
“Oh,” Kaelrik adds lazily. “And the warlock. The alpha’s mate. Now that is a prize. Do you know what we could use her for? The most powerful warlock?” His voice drops. “If I can figure out how to summon her…”
Another leviathan scoffs, “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“Man, these things take time.” Fake Kaelrik shoots back, “Trust me, I’ll get it soon. I’ve already got all these information and it’s been two nights.”
Yuma’s breath stutters.
That’s when it happens.
A stone shifts beneath his foot.
Click.
Silence.
Kaelrik’s voice cuts off mid-sentence. “…Did you hear that?”
Yuma freezes.
Every instinct screams run but he doesn’t move. He presses flat against the wall, heart pounding so hard he’s sure they can hear it.
Footsteps approach. Slow. Deliberate.
Yuma barely breathes. The air feels too thick. Too loud. A shadow crosses the torchlight.
“Probably rats,” someone mutters. “You know the surface has all these crawlies, I much prefer being under water.”
Kaelrik hums. “Still. Check it.”
The footsteps come closer. Closer.
Yuma shifts, just a hair — and prays for a stroke of luck. Please Moon Goddess, please let in the wind. He chants ancient prayers desperately,
And the Moon Goddess listened. A sudden gust howls through the entrance, rattling chains and torches.
“Stupid draft,” a guard grumbles.
The footsteps retreat.
Yuma doesn’t waste another second. He slides back, muscles burning, fear sharpening every sense. He doesn’t stop until he’s out, hidden behind the rocks again.
Kaelrik’s voice resumes inside.
Yuma bolts.
And when he returns, he finds them waiting. Taki and Fuma stationed on either side, looking out for anything suspicious. Euijoo hovering near the entrance, ready to pull Yuma out if anything went wrong.
Euijoo’s eyes lock on him instantly. “Well?”
Yuma doesn’t sugarcoat it.
“He’s a leviathian,” Yuma says. “No doubt. He’s leaking everything. Dryads. Fae. Sirens. The human village. Everything.”
Silence.
“He called Onyx a traitor. Sent hunters after her. Bragged about controlling the northern pack.” Yuma’s voice shakes. “And he wants Nova. Said if he can summon her—”
Euijoo swears under his breath. “You’re fucking kidding.”
“We have to move,” Yuma pants. “He’s heading back now. I barely got out.”
Euijoo straightens. “Then we go. Now.”
“Wait,” Taki stops them from bolting off, “If he’s sending hunters down for Onyx, shouldn’t we tell her? Protect her or something?”
Fuma squeezes Taki’s shoulder, “I know you’re worried but that fake ass alpha is going to walk out of here in a few seconds. And if he sees us standing here, we’re dead meat.”
Taki hesistates, but Fuma’s grip on him tightens. He thinks about Onyx in the cave by herself. Is her fur still matted with blood? Has her arm healed? The gashes?
“Don’t make me carry you like a pup.” Fuma warns.
He doesn’t argue this time.
They run. Through trees. Through frost. Back toward the den before anyone notices they’re gone. Before Kaelrik returns. Before it’s too late.
The pack can’t act normal.
They try — gods, they try — but every movement feels wrong. Every laugh is forced. Every casual conversation feels like a lie pressed between their teeth. The northern den, once loud and boisterous, now feels like a cage.
They were supposed to feel prepared. Months of fighting leviathians. Months of bloodshed. Training. Loss. But none of it feels like enough.
Because the truth is… they still don’t know how to kill them. Not really. Fire works sometimes. Magic too, if it’s strong enough. But nothing is permanent. Nothing feels final. Leviathians come back. Regroup. Adapt. Now they can shapeshift. Now they can infiltrate. Now they can pretend to be wolves.
How many are out there?
How many towns have already been compromised?
How many villages are unknowingly harbouring monsters?
And now — the worst part — They know everything.
Their allies. Their routes. Their weak points. Their mates.The element of surprise is gone.
Euijoo sits hunched over a table, fingers knotted in his hair. “I shouldn’t have trusted him,” he mutters for the fifth time. “I should’ve known. I should’ve—”
“No,” Fuma says gently. “You couldn’t have known.”
“But I should have.” Euijoo’s voice cracks. “I’m the alpha. That’s my job.”
Silence answers him.
“I told him about Nova,” he whispers. “About Syrena. About Aura and her court. About the human village. I handed him a weapon and smiled while doing it.”
His hands tremble. “They’re in danger because of me.”
Taki watches from across the room. He doesn’t interrupt.
Euijoo spirals — pacing, stopping, pacing again. Talking to himself. Planning. Scrapping plans. Starting over. “How do we leave without suspicion?” Euijoo mutters. “How do we get Onyx out? He’s hunting her. Gods, he’s hunting her.”
Too many problems.
Not enough time.
Lives on the line.
Taki leans back against the wall, exhaling slowly. He’s tired. Bone-deep tired.
The Shattersea War started months ago and somehow every day has only gotten worse. More bodies. More fear. More goodbyes. He hasn’t even had time to process the fact that he found his mate in the middle of a war zone — and she’s exiled, injured, hunted.
His hands work automatically.
Metal. Leather. Bone.
A new weapon.
He tightens a bolt. Adjusts the grip. Sharpens an edge. The soft scrape of stone against steel grounds him. It’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.
Fix what you can. Build what you need. Survive.
Taki glances at Euijoo again. He wishes he could help. Really help.
Their alpha sits at the edge of the clearing, knees pressed to the dirt, palms open to the sky. His eyes are closed. Lips moving silently in prayer. He hasn’t done this in months — not properly. Not like this.
He’s asking the Moon for guidance. For answers. For forgiveness. Taki swallows.
He wishes he could help. Really help. But what good is a blacksmith against monsters that wear friendly faces?
So he does the only thing he knows how to do. He works.
By midday, his hands are black with soot and metal dust. He’s reforged spearheads. Reinforced bow limbs. Sharpened blades until they gleam like frozen moonlight. Even added serrations to Yuma’s daggers — subtle, lethal.
Yuma watches him work, eyes thoughtful. “Trying to arm us for the apocalypse?”
Taki doesn’t look up. “Feels like we’re already in it.”
Yuma exhales through his nose. “Fair.”
Kaelrik passes.
Taki’s jaw tightens instantly.
The limp is more obvious now. The way his shoulder droops. The way his smile never reaches his eyes.
Leviathian. The word burns.
Kaelrik pauses. “Busy little forge you’ve got here.”
Taki forces a polite nod. “War waits for no one.”
Kaelrik chuckles. “Smart boy. Preparation is everything.”
Taki watches him walk away, pulse hammering. Every instinct screams to bare his fangs. To attack. To do something. But he doesn’t. Because that’s what Kaelrik wants.
The entire pack feels wrong. Wolves whisper more. Eyes track movement. Everyone’s tense — like prey pretending it isn’t being stalked.
Kaelrik notice Euijoo trying to keep himself busy, avoiding drinks with him. So he changes tactics.
He corners Fuma near the training grounds.
“You fight well,” Kaelrik says casually. “Strong stance. Good control.”
Fuma grunts, blocking Jo’s strike effortlessly. “Thanks.”
“You’d make a fine beta,” Kaelrik adds lightly. “If things were… different.”
Fuma freezes for half a second. Then resumes sparring like nothing happened. “Not interested,” he says flatly. “My loyalty’s taken.”
Kaelrik smiles thinly. “Of course. Just admiring talent.”
He leaves.
Fuma exhales sharply. “That was weird. And wrong.”
Jo snorts. “Everything about him is weird. And wrong.”
Taki watches it all. The charm. The probing. The way Kaelrik tries to collect wolves like pieces on a board. He tried going for Nicholas, and then K and then Harua after but they all rejected him politely with some excuse of helping the pack.
He’s fishing. Testing loyalty. Taki’s stomach twists.
That night, Euijoo gathers them. No speeches. No big plans. Just a quiet circle.
“We move before dawn,” he says. “Small group. Quiet. We don’t alert anyone.”
K sighs in relief. “We extracting her?”
Euijoo’s eyes flick to Taki and nods, “Onyx.”
Taki’s heart lurches.
“And?” Yuma asks.
“And we burn no bridges,” Euijoo adds. “No violence unless forced.”
Fuma scowls. “Kaelrik won’t let us leave quietly. He’s been hovering us all day, I think he knows something is up.”
Euijoo exhales. “That’s why we don’t ask.”
The den is silent. Too silent.
Their footsteps are ghosts against packed dirt, every breath measured. Harua’s satchel bumps softly against his hip and the tiny glass vials inside clink together — once, twice — far too loud in the stillness.
Maki winces, whispering under his breath, “Moon, please—” like a prayer might swallow sound itself.
No one speaks.
They slip past tents, shadows melting into shadows, until the forest finally opens up before them.
Cold air. Pine. Freedom.
They don’t stop running until the cave mouth looms ahead — jagged stone cutting into the night like broken teeth.
Taki’s heart slams against his ribs. He rushes forward before anyone can stop him. “Onyx?” he calls softly. “It’s me.” His voice echoes faintly.
No answer.
He swallows and steps inside, lifting his torch. Warm light spills across rock and damp earth. He pulls the wrapped bread and stew from his pack. “I brought food,” he adds quietly. “You have to be starving.”
Nothing.
A bad feeling crawls up his spine. He turns, sweeping the flame to the right—
And freezes.
Kaelrik stands there. Too close. Too calm.
One arm locked tight around Onyx’s chest, her back pressed to him. His dagger glints silver in the firelight, blade resting against her throat.
One wrong breath. She dies.
Taki stumbles back. “No—”
Kaelrik smiles. “Well well, what do we have here?”
The torchlight widens. Reveals them. The northern pack.
Dozens of wolves step out from the dark behind him, eyes reflecting gold, bodies tense, blocking every exit.
Trapped.
Onyx struggles weakly, eyes wild. “Taki—”
The dagger presses closer. “Ah ah,” Kaelrik hums. “Careful.”
Taki’s hands shake. He drops the food. Bread rolls uselessly across stone.
“You said they wouldn’t come,” Kaelrik continues, voice amused. “But of course they did. Wolves are so predictable when it comes to mates.”
Euijoo steps forward slowly, rage barely contained. “Let her go.”
Kaelrik laughs. “You don’t get to make demands anymore, eastern alpha.” He leans down, lips brushing Onyx’s ear. “I knew something was up when you lot was avoiding me. Is this how you return our hospitality?”
Her eyes fill with tears — but she lifts her chin. “Coward,” she spits. “You only win when you’re pretending to be someone else.” His smile vanishes. The dagger bites into skin. A thin line of blood forms.
“STOP!” Taki shouts.
Everything inside him breaks.
“Take me instead,” he blurts. “She’s already hurt— just take me.”
The cave goes quiet. Even Kaelrik looks surprised. Onyx shakes her head violently. “No—”
Taki steps forward anyway. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just let her go.”
Kaelrik tilts his head, intrigued. “Touching. Truly.” Then he laughs. “Oh, little blacksmith… you don’t get it.”
His eyes burn. “I don’t need either of you.”
He snaps his fingers. The northern wolves step closer, surrounding them completely. “Kill the eastern pack.”
Yuma shifts mid-leap, slamming into a wolf twice his size. Fuma roars, bones cracking as he takes full form. K drags Maki back as claws slash inches from his face.
“And you,” Kaelrik tightens his grip on Onyx. “Watch them die.”
Taki sees red. Something inside him snaps.
“Alright,” he shouts, stepping forward. “How about we fight? You and me.”
The cave stills. A wolf from the Northern pack scoffs.
“You realise you’re challenging an alpha?”
“Who are you to challenge our alpha?”
“Go on then, Kaelrik. Kill that son of a bitch.”
“You’ll be squashed like a bug, pup.”
Gasps ripple through the northern wolves.
An alpha challenge. One of the oldest pack laws. Sacred. Unbreakable.
Taki shifts. Bones crack. Black fur rips through skin. He lands heavy, massive, eyes glowing as he prowls forward.
Taki shifts easily, bone cracking and his skin replaced by black fur. He’s massive in wolf form and he beckons Kaelrik to come forward. “Come on. Let’s go, wolf to wolf.”
Maki whispers, terrified, “Is he insane? Do we help?”
Harua’s eyes light up. “No—” he laughs breathlessly. “He’s a genius.”
Maki blinks. “What?”
“This leviathan,” Harua whispers, “can’t shift. He’s stuck in human form.”
Euijoo’s breath catches. Then understanding. “When they see he can’t shift…” Euijoo murmurs. “They’ll know he’s an imposter.”
Kaelrik stands frozen.
The northern pack behind him urges him forward.
Kaelrik stands there, eyes darting around nervously. The northern pack remains behind him, prompting him to fight Taki. Claiming that an alpha has this down easily.
Taki smirks, “You can’t. Can you?”
“Of course, he can!”
“Stop wasting time and kill him!”
He watches Kaelrik’s fear. The calculation. The panic. “He can’t. Because he’s not a wolf.”
Kaelrik’s eyes snap to meet Taki’s.
“Because he’s not your alpha.” Taki continues. “This is a leviathan.”
The cave doesn’t erupt. It breathes.
A low, stunned silence spreads through the northern pack like frost. Wolves stare at Kaelrik — really look at him — for the first time.
“Shift.” One voice. Then another.
“Shift, Alpha.”
“Prove it.”
The word alpha sounds wrong now. Sour.
Kaelrik swallows. His throat bobs. He laughs — too loud, too sharp. “You’re all idiots,” he snaps. “You really think—”
“SHIFT!”
The roar shakes the cavern. Kaelrik flinches. His eyes flick to the moonlight spilling through the cave opening. And that’s when he notices it.
The moon. It’s… brighter. Whiter. Almost burning.
Every wolf in the cave feels it — that sacred pull, that ancient hum in their bones. The same moon they’ve worshipped, feared, prayed to their entire lives.
But Kaelrik? He feels nothing. Just heat. Just exposure.
Why is it so bright? Has it always been this bright?
The wolves shift uneasily, energy buzzing through them, fur prickling. “Shift,” someone growls. “Right now.”
Kaelrik steps back. Taki steps forward. Slow. Measured. Predatory.
Moonlight spills across his black fur, turning his eyes into molten silver. He looks enormous. Unmovable. Like the mountain itself decided to grow teeth.
Kaelrik’s breath comes fast.“Stay back,” he warns weakly.
Taki doesn’t.
“You’re running out of time,” Taki says quietly. “They’re watching.”
Kaelrik tightens his grip on Onyx — then falters. Fear makes him sloppy. And that’s all she needs.
Onyx shifts in a blur of bone and shadow. Fur bursts through skin, a low snarl ripping from her chest as she tears free and lands beside Taki.
Shoulder to shoulder. Mate to mate. She bares her teeth. The cave answers.
One by one, wolves step forward. Not Kaelrik’s wolves.
Taki’s.
The eastern pack forms behind him — a wall of fur and fangs. Even a few northern wolves hesitate… then drift closer. Choosing. Watching. Deciding.
Kaelrik looks around. No pack. No power. Just him. A dagger in his hand. A body that isn’t his. Pain gnawing through every joint like rusted wire.
He laughs again — hysterical now. “This is insane,” he pants. “You’d choose them over me?”
No one answers.
Taki lowers his head. Onyx growls. The moon blazes overhead.
Kaelrik’s mind snaps.
Run.
The oldest instinct. The only one he has left.
It burns. Every step is fire — like he’s running barefoot over shattered glass, bones screaming, lungs tearing. The body isn’t meant for this speed. The pain is relentless. Punishing.
Just past that tree, he thinks wildly. Just past it— If he can reach it, he can call them. The real ones. The leviathians lurking beneath the earth, beneath the sea. Help. Salvation.
But fate is cruel. Shadows blur around him. A thud.
He crashes to the forest floor, breath knocked clean from his chest. Before he can scramble up, wolves land around him — heavy, solid, inevitable.
A circle. No escape. The eastern pack shifts back into human form one by one, weapons glinting. Some lean casually, like this is entertainment. They’ve been here before — cornered by leviathans, desperate runs, fearing for their lives.
Maki crouches in front of him, grinning. “Wow,” he drawls. “That was… embarrassing. I’ve seen newborn pups run faster.”
A few wolves snort.
Kaelrik bares his teeth. “Get away from me—”
“Oh, but we’re just getting started,” Maki says sweetly.
Then the northern pack surges forward. The air changes. Grief crashes into rage.
“You used us!”
“You wore his face!”
“My brother died because of you!”
A fist slams into Kaelrik’s jaw. Another wolf kicks his ribs.He stumbles, barely staying upright, hands flying up to shield his head. The blows come fast — messy, emotional. No structure. No honor.
This isn’t a duel. It’s vengeance.
“Why us?” someone screams, tears streaking their face. “Why our pack?!”
“We lost our alpha!” “Our beta!” “And you framed her—” Onyx’s name catches in their throats.
Kaelrik spits blood, coughing. “You were… easy,” he rasps. “Weak leadership. Divided. Desperate for hope.”
That earns him another punch. He collapses to his knees.
The northern pack surrounds him now, snarling, sobbing, fists shaking. Their world has imploded in a single night. Everything they believed — ripped out from under them.
“You took everything from us,” a wolf chokes. “Our home. Our trust.”
Kaelrik laughs weakly. “You would’ve fallen anyway.”
A wolf lunges first — fist cracking into Kaelrik’s cheek so hard his head snaps sideways. Another follows, boot slamming into his ribs. He stumbles, barely upright before someone shoves him back down.
“Shut the fuck up!”
“That’s our alpha’s face!”
“You don’t get to wear him!”
Kaelrik hits the dirt. His dagger skids away, kicked far into the shadows. He reaches for it out of instinct— Too slow.
A heel comes down on his wrist. Bone crunches. He screams.
The northern pack swarms him now. Not coordinated. Not controlled. Just grief and rage and betrayal in physical form.
Punches. Kicks. Shoves.
“You killed him!” “You lived in our den!” “You slept under our roof!”
Kaelrik tries to fight back at first, snarling, swinging blindly. But there are too many. Every time he lifts his head, another blow sends him crashing back down. Blood fills his mouth. That’s when it hits him.
I might actually die here.
His bravado cracks. “Stop—!” he gasps. “Please—!”
A kick lands in his stomach. He retches. “I—I’m sorry,” he pants. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”
Some wolves hesitate. He sees it. Uses it.
“I thought… I thought I belonged here,” he croaks. “You don’t understand. Being with you— it felt… familiar. Like home.”
Tears sting his eyes — real ones this time, fear burning through him. “The other leviathians never gave me that,” he whispers. “I was just a tool to them. Here, I felt… seen.”
A wolf falters. Another lowers their fist. Then Onyx steps forward. Her voice is calm.
Deadly. “Don’t.”
Everyone stills.
She looks down at him, eyes cold. “You son of a bitch, you don’t get to rewrite this.”
Kaelrik swallows. “Onyx—”
“You framed me. You ruined my pack. And you’re saying all this pathetic melancholy shit wearing my dead alpha’s face.” She crouches. “You don’t miss us. You miss the power.”
Silence. Kaelrik’s jaw tightens. Then he laughs. Again.
This time? No fear. No softness. Just venom.
“Fine.” His eyes blaze. “You caught me. Congratulations.”
He spits blood onto the ground. “But don’t pretend you were anything special.”
The pack stiffens.
“I hate wolves,” he snarls. “Your moon worship? Disgusting. Begging some fake goddess to guide you like helpless pups.”
A growl ripples through the crowd.
“There is no Moon Goddess,” he snaps. “No fate. No destiny. Just power.”
Onyx’s eyes darken.
Kaelrik pushes himself up slightly, voice rising. “You know why we’re doing this? Why the leviathians are taking over?” He grins. “Because your world is rotting.”
He gestures wildly. “Humans killing creatures. Councils falling apart. Supernaturals hiding in caves and ruins. You know, we’re powerful beings. And yet, you guys are just okay with the fact that we’re getting trampled on?”
“You worship old gods and broken traditions,” he spits. “You’re stagnant.”
His voice sharpens. “We’re evolving. And we knew you pathetic, stubborn creatures wouldn’t understand. So to hell with you!”
“The oceans are dying. The ley lines are collapsing. Magic is thinning. Your kind is burning the world down and calling it balance.”
The wolves hesitate. Kaelrik seizes it. “Leviathians don’t kneel to fake gods,” he sneers. “We don’t cling to the past. We adapt.”
“We’re taking control because someone has to. For the greater good.”
A beat. Then Taki steps forward. Quiet.
“Funny.”
Kaelrik looks at him.
“You talk about saving the world,” Taki says softly, “but all I see is a coward hiding behind someone else’s face.”
The northern pack growls.
Kaelrik bares his teeth. “You’re all parasites. And when we’re done? You’ll thank us.”
Kaelrik crumbles the moment Taki growls.
It isn’t loud. It isn’t dramatic. But it’s enough. His bravado evaporates.
“P-Please,” Kaelrik whimpers, scrambling back on his elbows. “Wait—!”
Taki steps forward. Slow. Deliberate. Every wolf feels it — the shift in the air, the way danger coils around him like smoke.
“Give me one,” Taki says quietly. “One good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”
Kaelrik opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.
Taki’s claws slide free with a soft snikt. He grabs Kaelrik by the throat, hauling him upright. Kaelrik chokes, fingers clawing uselessly at Taki’s wrists.
“You used my alpha,” Taki snarls. “You fed off his trust. You exiled my mate.”
Kaelrik’s eyes roll back as pressure tightens.
“You leaked our routes,” Taki continues. “You were about to hand my pack to slaughter like it meant nothing.”
His voice cracks — just barely. “Do you know how tired we are?”
Months of blood. Of fighting shadows. Of burying the dead. Taki lifts his free hand. The pack holds its breath.
He’s ready.
Then— Onyx. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. She just looks at him. And something in her eyes stops him cold. Not fear. Not mercy. Understanding.
Taki freezes mid-strike. His claws still pressed to Kaelrik’s skin. His heart hammering.
Kaelrik feels it — the hesitation — and goes completely limp, like a puppet with cut strings. “W-Wait,” he gasps suddenly. “I can help!”
Taki doesn’t loosen his grip.
“I have insider information,” Kaelrik blurts. “Real things. Leviathian routes, hideouts, plans—”
“Bullshit,” Euijoo snaps instantly. “You’ve lied about everything else.”
Kaelrik shakes violently. “I swear! On my life!”
“That doesn’t mean shit,” Nicholas mutters.
Kaelrik’s eyes dart around, desperate. “You don’t understand, I was inside their ranks. I know who’s embedded where. I know which towns are compromised. Which packs—”
Taki tightens his grip just enough to remind him who’s in control. “You lie,” Taki says low, “you die.”
Kaelrik nods frantically. “I won’t. I swear. Kill me after if you want, just— just let me talk.”
Silence stretches.
All eyes go to Euijoo. Then to Onyx. Then back to Taki.
His jaw clenches. Slowly, he loosens his grip.
Kaelrik collapses to the ground, coughing violently, clutching his throat like it’s still in danger. Taki steps back, claws still out.
“Start talking,” Euijoo says coldly. “And pray it’s worth keeping you alive.”
Kaelrik gulps. “Alright,” he whispers. “Alright. You want the truth?”
His eyes gleam. “You’re already surrounded.”
Onyx lets out a bitter laugh. “You’ve been lying since the day you crawled into his skin. Why should we believe a word you say now?”
Kaelrik shrugs, wincing as blood drips from his lip. “Because I don’t want to die?”
Harua is already moving. He drops to his knees, duffel bag spilling open as glass vials clink softly. Dried herbs. Crushed roots. Powdered bone. His hands work fast, practiced.
“I can make a truth-binding tonic,” he mutters. “But it won’t last long. And I’m missing half the ingredients.” He looks up. “I need something that belongs to him. Not the body. The thing inside.”
Everyone freezes. Then K’s gaze drops. “The dagger.”
It lies a few feet away, half-buried in dirt. Still stained dark.
Kaelrik’s breath stutters. “Come on now, that’s been with me for so long.”
Taki doesn’t hesitate. He strides forward and crushes it under a hammer he pulled out of his bag. Metal bends with a screech, splintering apart.
Harua scoops up the twisted iron shards and grinds them into powder. He mixes them into a murky liquid, chanting under his breath. “This won’t make you tell the truth,” he says calmly. “But if you lie?”
He looks Kaelrik dead in the eyes. “Your lungs will seize. You won’t be able to breathe. You’ll beg to pass out.”
Silence. Kaelrik swallows hard. Harua tilts the vial to his lips.
“Drink.” He hesitates. Taki tightens his grip and Kaelrik chokes it down.
Minutes pass. Sweat beads at his temples.
“Start talking,” Euijoo says.
Kaelrik exhales shakily. “There are lands already compromised. West of here. Two near the marshlands.” He takes a breath. “Nests underground. Old mining tunnels. We move supplies through river routes — hidden docks. Leviathians communicate through bone-carved sigils under water, the ancient sea ways. We burn them after.”
Yuma tilts his head. Heartbeat steady. Breathing smooth. Truth.
Kaelrik continues. “We track alphas. Their mates. Weak points.” His pauses. “Human villages are next.” His chest tightens suddenly.
Yuma squints his eyes when Kaelrik’s heartbeat raises. Lie.
He coughs. “—I mean, the elven lands—” His lungs seize. He claws at his throat, eyes bulging.
Harua watches carefully. “Careful,” he warns. “You’re slipping.”
Kaelrik wheezes. “I mean, some leviathians are already in elven lands.”
Yuma’s ears flick. Heartbeat spikes. Lie.
“Explain,” Euijoo snaps. Kaelrik forces himself to breathe slowly. “Not conquered. Infiltrated. Leaders replaced. Trust broken.”
Steady rhythm. Truth.
Maki watches his hands. No twitching. No fidgeting. Harua studies his pupils. No dilation. Everything lines up. It’s real. Silence swallows the clearing.
Taki nods once. “Good.”
Kaelrik coughs, straightening a little despite the blood coating his chin.
“Look,” he rasps. “I can still be useful. You don’t have to kill me.” His eyes dart from face to face. “I can go back. Undercover. Feed you information. Locations. Names. Weak points. I know their hierarchy—”
“No,” Taki cuts in.
Kaelrik blinks. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Taki says flatly.
Kaelrik scoffs. “You’re throwing away a strategic advantage.”
“No,” Taki interrupts again. “We’re throwing away a liability.”
Kaelrik’s jaw tightens. “Listen—”
“No.”
Each interruption chips away at him. His breathing grows uneven. His hands curl into fists. “You wolves are idiots,” he snaps suddenly.
Silence.
“You’re losing anyway.” He spits blood onto the dirt. “You think killing me changes anything? We already own half your world.”
A murmur ripples through the packs. Kaelrik’s smile turns feral. “Your villages. Your councils. Your borders. We’re already inside.”
“You don’t.”
Everyone turns.
“My pack is free now,” Onyx says. “And they’ll warn others.”
Kaelrik bursts out laughing. “Too late.”
Onyx steps forward. “You’re scared.”
The words land heavier than any blow.
“You wouldn’t bargain,” she continues, voice steady, “if you weren’t.”
Kaelrik falters. Just for a second. Enough. Taki sees it. The tonic still burns in Kaelrik’s veins. He can’t lie his way out of this. He can’t fight. He can’t shift.
He’s trapped.
“You’re not special,” Onyx says. “You were just convenient.”
Kaelrik’s face twists. “Shut up.”
“You lost,” she whispers.
That’s when he breaks. “You don’t understand,” he snarls. “We’re doing this for a reason. The world is rotting. Magic is unstable. Species tearing each other apart. We’re fixing it.”
Maki scoffs. “By killing everyone?”
“By resetting it,” Kaelrik snaps. “You cling to gods that don’t exist and laws written by dead wolves—”
Onyx bares her teeth. “Careful now.”
Kaelrik laughs again, hysterical now. “Kill me then. Be my guest. But it won’t stop what’s coming.”
Taki steps forward. Claws unsheathed. “You’re right,” he says calmly. “It won’t.”
He grips Kaelrik’s throat.
“But it’ll stop you.” Kaelrik freezes. Fear finally cracks through his bravado. “Seems pretty good to me right now.”
“Wait—”
Taki doesn’t. No roar. No dramatic pause. Just efficiency. His claws slide in, precise and brutal. He crushes Kaelrik’s windpipe in one clean motion, then twists—hard. Bone snaps. The sound is sickening.
Kaelrik’s eyes go wide. His body jerks once. Then goes slack. Taki releases him and lets the corpse hit the dirt.
Silence. No one cheers. No one celebrates. Because they all heard what he said. Because they all know what’s coming.
Taki steps back, wiping blood onto the grass. His hands are shaking—not from adrenaline, but from weight. From everything they just learned. From the realisation that killing one leviathan doesn’t end a war.
Fuma finally speaks. Low. Steady. “This means we move to Elven land.”
All eyes turn.
“If Kaelrik was right,” Fuma continues, “then they’ve already infiltrated it. We go there. We warn them. We prepare.” He looks at the northern wolves. “We’ll need allies.”
A heavy pause.
“We hope you’ll stand with us.”
Onyx doesn’t move at first.
She’s staring at the body. At the face that once belonged to her alpha. To someone she trusted. A northern wolf steps forward. Then another. Then another. They circle her slowly. No words. No commands. Just instinct. The pack choosing.
Taki recognises it instantly. The silence before leadership.
Onyx shakes her head. “No—”
A wolf presses their forehead to hers. Submission. Trust. The circle tightens. Her breath stutters.
“We don’t have an alpha,” one says quietly. “No beta,” another adds. “We cannot be a pack without an alpha.”
Onyx looks around at them. At their injuries. Their exhaustion. Their grief. Her jaw tightens. “…I don’t want this,” she whispers.
The pack waits.
“You came back for us. You could have just ran and left us to die but you didn’t.”
“You tried to warn us and always wanted the best for us. You need to lead us the same way you believed in yourself.”
She straightens but doesn’t say a word. She knows she has no other choice. If she wants the pack to keep going—
A howl breaks from somewhere in the circle. Then another. Then all of them. Not joyful. Not celebratory. Defiant. Survival.
“Prepare the ritual,” someone says. “Tonight. Under the moon.”
Not a coronation. A blessing. A plea. The pack scatters, already moving, already planning.
Onyx turns to Euijoo. “I’ll purge them,” she vows. “Every infiltrator. We’ll stake out their nests. Warn allied packs. Prepare.” Her eyes burn. “We’ll be on the frontlines.”
Euijoo nods. No words needed. They clasp forearms. Alpha to Alpha.
The camp is loud. Not with celebration but with preparation. Steel being sharpened. Supplies being packed. Orders whispered like prayers.
Taki spots Onyx near the edge of the clearing, sitting on a fallen log, staring at nothing. Her shoulders look heavier than they did this morning. He approaches quietly.
“Hey,” he says softly.
She startles, then relaxes when she sees him. “You’re supposed to be packing.”
“I will,” he shrugs. “Wanted to say something first.”
She tilts her head.
“Congratulations,” Taki says sincerely. “Alpha Onyx.”
Her lips twitch but don’t quite smile. “Don’t call me that.”
“But you are,” he insists. “They chose you.”
Her gaze drops to her hands. “They didn’t choose me. They chose… whoever was left.”
Taki frowns. “That’s not true.”
She exhales shakily. “Kaelrik was strong. Charismatic. Everyone listened to him when he spoke. I’m not… like that.” Her voice cracks. “I’m not powerful. I’m not inspiring. I don’t know how to lead a pack.” She laughs weakly. “This past week scared the hell out of me, Taki. All I want to do is curl up somewhere and sleep for a year.”
His chest tightens. Without thinking, he steps forward and wraps his arms around her.
She stiffens for half a second—then melts. Her forehead presses into his chest. Her fingers curl into his shirt like she’s afraid he’ll disappear.
Taki holds her tighter. “You don’t have to be him,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to be loud or charming or intimidating.”
She sniffles.
“You’re observant. You listen. You care when someone gets hurt. You ran back into danger to warn your pack even when you knew they might kill you for it.” His voice softens. “That’s what makes a good alpha.”
She pulls back slightly. “You really think that?”
“I know it,” he says.
She stares at him like she might cry again, then buries her face back into his chest. “Thank you,” she whispers.
They stay like that for a while. The chaos fades into background noise.
“I’m sorry,” Taki says quietly. “That this is when the Moon decided to throw us together.”
She huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Real romantic timing.”
“But after this war,” he promises, “I’m going to treat you the way you deserve. No fighting. No running. Just… peace.”
Her heart skips. “Like what?” she asks softly.
He grins. “Food dates. Sleeping in. You complaining about my terrible cooking.”
“How would I know if your cooking is terrible?”
“Well you’re going to have to survive this war to find out out then.”
She smiles for real this time.
“And… I’m sorry,” he adds. “About what they did to you. Being exiled. Framed. Losing your beta…” His voice lowers. “I can’t imagine that pain.”
Her hand squeezes his shirt. “I don’t think I’ve even processed it yet.”
“You don’t have to alone,” he says. “You’ve got me now.”
She looks up at him. “You’re really stuck with me, huh?”
“Moon said so,” he shrugs. “Can’t argue with divine matchmaking.”
She laughs quietly, resting her head back against him. For a moment, there is no war. No leviathians. No fear. Just them.
Taki presses his forehead to hers.
“Survive this,” he whispers. “So we can start that future.”
Onyx nods. “I will.”
©inkedbysonny
Marked By The Moon
✐ᝰ word count: 13.7k ✐ᝰ genre: fantasy, romance, angst, slow-burn, action, werewolf!yuma, fae!oc, dryad!oc, mythic war, nature magic, mate bond ✐ᝰ warnings: graphic violence, blood and severe injury, kidnapping and captivity, psychological manipulation, emotional distress, mate bond tension, forced confessions, power imbalance, near-death experiences, war crimes/off-page torture, strong language ✐ᝰ author’s note: we finally dive into yuma’s arc!! this one’s messy, brutal, and emotional. yuma's character is a smooth talker and he's one of the recons for the pack and i wanted to explore how head over heels he would be for his mate compared to other members so a few references to harua's arc and some of the other members' mates so just be aware. this arc can absolutely be read on its own, but it also sets the stage for the escalating war and deeper revelations in the next parts. thanks for reading — scream, cry, fang, theorize, and fangirl/fanboy freely. the hunt continues. ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ links to other parts of the veilbourne saga: part 1 (jo) | part 2 (nicholas) | part 3 (k) | part 4 (euijoo) | part 5 (harua) | part 7 (taki) | part 8 (maki) | part 9 (fuma)
Yuma wakes before the sun.
He doesn’t know why at first. There’s no alarm, no sound loud enough to justify it — just a pull, a thin thread of wrongness tugging at the edge of his sleep. His ears twitch once. Then again.
Then he hears it.
A howl.
Yuma is on his feet before his brain catches up. The den erupts behind him — movement, voices, bodies scrambling as the sound reaches the others. Euijoo barrels out of his room half-shifted, Jo already grabbing a cloak, Nicholas swearing under his breath.
They rush the entrance together, adrenaline already high, ready to greet—
Ready to congratulate Harua. Ready to tease him. Ready to see the healer who left a week ago come back stronger, steadier, prepared.
What they get instead is blood.
Harua collapses through the den threshold like something thrown from a storm.
He hits the ground hard, bow clattering from his grip, the sound of it sharp and wrong in the sudden silence. Blood slicks the stone beneath him — too much of it — dark and fresh and soaking through torn fabric. His hind leg is bent at an angle no joint should ever bend. He’s shaking. Not from shock.
From grief.
“Harua—” Euijoo is already there, horror flickering across his face. “What happened—?”
Jo drops to his knees, reaching for Harua’s shoulders. “Easy, easy— don’t move—”
Nicholas swears again, louder this time. “Gods, who did this to you?”
The pack gathers around their healer, instinct colliding with panic. Maki is already rifling through Harua’s inventory, hands shaking. Taki fumbles with bandages, unrolling them wrong, then again. “Where does it hurt, Harua?” Taki asks, voice too tight.
Harua claws weakly at the ground, fingers slick with blood. His grip tightens around the bow like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His chest heaves, breath hitching, breaking, shattering.
“They—” His voice cracks. He tries again. “They took her.”
The den stills.
Yuma feels it then — the way the air changes. The way something locks into place. Euijoo freezes. “Took who?”
Harua’s eyes are wild, unfocused, flooded. “My—” He chokes. Swallows hard. “My mate.”
Silence crashes down like a held breath finally breaking.
“Who’s— I mean, when—“ Fuma’s eyes darts around in panic, “How did you—“
He was supposed to train. Learn. Come back better prepared — not this. Not broken. Not bleeding out at their feet with a bond torn open.
Taki moves without thinking. He kneels in front of Harua, hands hovering — careful, precise, already assessing damage even as his mind races ahead of the moment. “Where does it hurt?” he repeats.
“…Everywhere.” Harua howls in pain, tears finally spilling free. “They told me. They wanted her. Her knowledge. They—” His voice drops to something broken. “They’re hurting her.”
The words sink like poison. “The dryad,” Euijoo says slowly, horror dawning. “The one you went to train with.”
Harua’s jaw trembles. “Leviathians,” he whispers. “The river warned me too late— I didn’t listen fast enough—” His breath stutters. “They took Willow.”
Yuma exhales once. Euijoo moves first.
“Wrap him,” he orders, sharp and immediate. “Now.”
Taki doesn’t hesitate. He’s already there, hands steady despite the blood, tearing bandages with his teeth when his fingers slip. “Harua,” he says firmly, grounding. “Look at me. What do you need?”
Harua’s breathing is ragged. His jaw clenches, eyes fluttering. “Stabilise the leg first,” he gasps. “Don’t— don’t try to set it yet. I’ve got—” He fumbles weakly at his satchel. “Green bottle. Resin-based. It’ll slow the bleeding.”
Jo is already moving. “I’ve got it,” he says, scooping up the rest of Harua’s belongings and dragging them into the den — the banana leaves, the vials, the unfamiliar tools that smell like riverwater and bark and something ancient.
Euijoo crouches beside Harua, one hand braced on the stone, the other hovering like he’s afraid to touch him wrong. “Anything else,” he says, not a question. “Tell us.”
“Keep me awake,” Harua whispers. “If I sleep—”
“You won’t,” Taki cuts in immediately. “I’ve got you.”
Good, Euijoo thinks. Then his mind shifts — fast, brutal, already three steps ahead.
Leviathians. They took a healer dryad. Not for ransom. Not for territory. For knowledge.
“They already mimic us,” Euijoo says aloud, pacing now. “Speech. Speed. And they can shapeshift during the day now.” His jaw tightens. “If they get healing—”
“They won’t need to retreat anymore,” Fuma finishes grimly. “They’ll grind us down.”
“And they won’t stop at wolves,” Jo adds. “They’ll come for everyone.”
Silence stretches tight.
Then Yuma clears his throat.
“I know where Harua was training,” he says, voice steady — too steady. All eyes turn to him. “There’s a trail running along the forest’s eastern edge. It borders a small fae court.”
That gets a reaction.
“No,” Fuma says immediately. “Absolutely not.”
Euijoo grimaces. “Fae don’t intervene without a price.”
“And we don’t have anything left to give,” Fuma presses. “Not soldiers. Not relics. Not time.”
Yuma shrugs lightly, but his eyes are sharp. Calculating. “They owe me.”
That earns him a look. “For what?” Euijoo asks.
Yuma smiles — thin, knowing. “That’s complicated.”
Harua lets out a weak, broken laugh from the floor. “They helped me once,” he murmurs. “Willow— she said the fae listen. Even when they pretend not to.”
Fuma swears under his breath. “We walk into fae territory, we’re not just negotiating,” he says. “We’re gambling.”
Euijoo looks down at Harua — broken, bleeding, shaking with a bond screaming itself raw. Then he looks at the map forming in his head. The dead ends. The shrinking options.
There is no clean path forward.
“…Make the call,” Euijoo says finally.
Yuma’s grin is immediate. Dangerous. “Thought you’d never ask.”
“We go in prepared,” Euijoo adds sharply. “No bargains made without me knowing. No names given freely. No promises you can’t keep.”
“Understood.” The pack answers in unison.
The den hums with movement again — tension snapping into purpose.
They don’t linger.
By the time the sun climbs over the treeline, the pack is already moving — boots crunching over frost-bitten earth, cloaks pulled tight, weapons checked and rechecked.
Harua shouldn’t be walking. But he is.
A few ancient spells muttered under his breath — words older than the pack, older than the war — and a thick brown salve pressed into his wounds until it binds flesh like bark knitting back together. The damage is still there if you look too closely. His leg doesn’t bend quite right. His eyes are bloodshot, wild with sleeplessness and bond-pain. He can’t stand still for more than a second.
But he’s upright. And that’s a miracle in itself.
Nicholas returns from the human village just before they set off, jaw tight, eyes distant — the look of someone who’s just promised to come back alive.
Jo checks his bag twice, then a third time, before slipping a smooth, pale shell into the inner pocket. Emergency only. He presses his thumb to it briefly, like a prayer, then seals the clasp. Something his mate gave him. Something he never leaves behind.
Euijoo lingers at the river’s edge. The surface ripples unnaturally, reflecting not the sky but a familiar face — his mate’s eyes steady, worried, unflinching. He murmurs reassurance. Strategy. A promise he fully intends to keep.
Nearby, K’s mate fusses openly — ruffling his hair, straightening his collar, checking his belt. Her eyes are sharp with worry, mouth tight until K grins and says something under his breath that makes her scoff.
“I’ll be back before you miss me,” he teases.
“You’re already unbearable,” she shoots back, relief threading through the banter.
Yuma watches it all from the edge of the path.
Mates. Bonds. Anchors.
Then he looks at Harua. At the way his gaze keeps drifting back toward the forest, like something vital was torn out and left behind.
Yuma steps closer, matching his pace. “So,” he says lightly, after a moment. “What’s she like?”
Harua blinks. “What?”
“Your mate,” Yuma clarifies. Softer now. “Tell me about her.”
For a second, Harua looks like he might break again. Then his shoulders loosen.
“She’s… terrifying,” he says, breath huffing out in something like a laugh. “The forest listens to her. Like it knows when she’s disappointed.” He gestures vaguely. “She gave me pop quizzes and threw pebbles at me when I got questions wrong.”
“Cruel teacher,” Yuma hums.
“She said mercy without discipline rots the soul,” Harua replies, fond despite himself. “And gods— she was beautiful. Not in the way people expect. Bark in her hair. Dirt under her nails. Eyes like deep water.” His voice softens. “She never once treated me like I was fragile.”
Yuma nods, letting him talk.
“She taught me how to hear the river properly. How to ask instead of take. How to heal without leaving pieces of yourself behind.” Harua swallows. “And when we kissed…I didn’t plan to. I didn’t think she’d—”
He exhales sharply. “I didn’t want to go. I almost stayed.”
“But you didn’t,” Yuma says gently.
Harua shakes his head. “I thought I had time.”
Yuma offers a quiet comment when it’s needed, a nod here, a murmur there — enough to keep Harua grounded, distracted, breathing.
And as the pack moves ahead — bound, loved, tethered to someone waiting for them —
Yuma keeps his eyes forward. Wonders, not for the first time, When it will be his turn to be missed.
The pack moves in silence.
Not the easy kind — not the comfortable quiet of wolves who trust the forest to carry them. This one is heavy. Weighted. Every snapped twig feels louder than it should.
They pass beneath twisted branches and ancient roots, the forest thickening around them like a held breath. Somewhere between one step and the next, it finally sinks in:
The war is here.
Not might. Not someday.
Inevitable.
They’ve fought the leviathians too many times to count. Each clash leaves scars that never fully fade — ribs cracked, magic burned thin, bodies dragged back from the edge of death.
Sure, promises were made in whispers against skin, hands clasped too tight, vows spoken like talismans to the ones who found their mates.
I’ll come back. I’ll survive this. I won’t leave you.
They meant every word. Whether the war will let them keep those promises is another matter entirely.
Yuma slows, the air prickling wrong against his skin. His gaze lifts, scanning the trees ahead — the curve of the path, the bend of the riverbank just beyond.
“We’re here,” he starts to say.
Click.
The sound is soft. Almost polite.
Too late.
A dagger screams through the air.
It flashes past Jo’s face close enough to kiss skin, grazing his cheek in a thin line of red before embedding itself in a tree with a violent thunk.
“Down—!” Euijoo roars.
The forest erupts.
More blades fly from the undergrowth — not wild, not sloppy. Precise. Calculated. A net snapping shut. Taki stumbles back from the branch he leaned on, eyes wide with horror as the realisation hits. “It’s a trigger—!”
Another dagger slams into the ground where Harua stood a heartbeat ago, stone splintering. Nicholas hauls him back just in time, teeth bared as arrows whistle overhead. Jo swears, blood streaking his cheek as he ducks behind a fallen log, claws already extending.
Shadows move between the trees. Too fast. Too coordinated.
Yuma’s heart slams against his ribs.
“Ambush,” he breathes — not as a warning, but a confirmation.
The fae don’t announce themselves. They hunt. And the pack has just stepped into their snare. The forest doesn’t explode.
It unfolds.
Fae drop from the canopy like falling leaves — silent, weightless, lethal. Cloaks ripple as they land, boots barely kissing the earth before steel is drawn. Blades glint green and silver, etched with runes that hum low and hungry.
“Hold!” Euijoo shouts. “Do not kill them!”
Too late for mercy.
The first fae lunges. Fuma shifts mid-step, claws flashing as he knocks the blade aside — deliberately shallow, pulling the strike that would’ve torn through a throat. The fae doesn’t hesitate. Twists. Drives a knee into his ribs and vaults off his chest like he’s nothing more than terrain.
Nicholas snarls, catching another attacker by the wrist and slamming them into a tree — hard enough to rattle bark, not hard enough to break bone. “We’re not here to fight!” he barks.
The answer is a blade slicing past his ear. They move like dancers. Every step rehearsed. Every attack designed to disarm, disable, humiliate.
Jo goes down under two of them, rolling to his feet just in time to block a strike meant for his spine. Taki shifts fully, wolf form massive and snarling — but even then, he bites wide, dragging a fae away instead of crushing their throat.
The restraint costs them.
Yuma feels it the second someone targets him. Not wild. Not panicked.
Focused.
A body drops in front of him — light, compact, perfectly balanced. The fae wears dark leathers, armor layered like overlapping leaves. A mask obscures her face, carved smooth and pale, etched with sigils that flicker faintly when she moves.
She doesn’t hesitate. Steel meets steel.
Yuma barely blocks in time, the impact ringing up his arms. She presses immediately, blows chaining together in ruthless precision — elbow, knee, blade, feint. He staggers back a step, eyes narrowing.
“Wait—!” he snaps, dodging a slash that would’ve opened his throat. “We don’t want—”
She sweeps his legs.
Yuma hits the ground hard, rolling just as her blade sinks into the earth where his neck was a moment ago. He springs up, breath sharp, heart pounding — not from fear.
From recognition. “You’re skilled,” he says between parries, trying — gods, trying — to slow the fight. “We came to ask for help. Not blood.”
She doesn’t answer. She spins, momentum carrying her blade in a brutal arc. Yuma catches her wrist, twists — not enough to break it, just enough to force space between them.
“Listen to me,” he pleads, voice rough. “The leviathians took someone. A dryad. She’s—”
Her knee slams into his stomach.
Air leaves his lungs in a sharp oof. She wrenches free, using his momentary weakness to flip him over her hip and drive him into the ground. Her boot plants on his chest, pinning him there, blade hovering at his throat. For a split second — just one — the forest goes quiet around them.
Yuma looks up at her mask. Sees the way it tilts. Curious. Assessing.
“We don’t have time for fae games,” he says hoarsely. “They’re trying to steal healing magic. Regeneration. If they succeed—”
Her blade wavers. Just barely.
Yuma feels it. The shift. The hesitation she doesn’t want him to notice. “Please,” he says, softer now. Honest. “We’re not your enemies.”
Something hums in the air.
Not magic cast — magic listening.
The fae steps back abruptly, as if burned, blade retracting. Around them, the fight falters — fae pulling away, wolves freezing mid-strike as a sharp whistle cuts through the trees.
A command.
The masked fae retreats a step, eyes never leaving Yuma. Then she speaks — voice low, distorted by magic, unreadable.
“You trespass armed and bleeding,” she says. “You trigger our wards. You spill blood on fae ground.” Her head tilts again. “And you expect mercy?”
“Okay man, ya’ll attacked us first—“ Nicholas is quick to slap his hand over Maki’s mouth to shut him up.
Yuma pushes himself to his feet slowly, hands open, chest heaving. “No,” he answers truthfully. “We’re hoping for help.”
Somewhere deep in the forest, ancient magic stirs.
“My name is Yuma,” he says, breath still uneven, blood drying warm against his skin. He looks at the ring of armed fae, at the blades that haven’t quite lowered. “And you owe me a favour.”
Laughter ripples through the clearing.
“A favour?” someone scoffs. “From us?”
But the masked fae doesn’t laugh. She freezes. Not subtly. Not gradually. Like something inside her has snapped to attention.
“Say your name again,” she demands.
Yuma blinks, caught off guard by the sharpness in her tone. “Yuma,” he repeats. “Of the eastern pack.”
The air changes.
Her grip on her blade slackens. Just a fraction — but Yuma sees it. Feels it. “…Yuma,” she echoes. Quieter now. Testing the sound.
Then — softly, almost to herself: “The wolf who crossed the silver ravine.”
The fae around her stir.
“That’s impossible,” one mutters. “That was years ago.”
Her head snaps toward them. “Lower your weapons.”
“What—?”
“Now.”
Authority rings in her voice — ancient and unquestionable. Blades drop. Bows lower. The tension doesn’t vanish, but it reshapes, coiling into something wary and alert.
She steps closer to Yuma, eyes locked on him through the mask. “You fought the Night Court,” she says. “On the border of fae land.”
Yuma frowns, “Well yes, they were trafficking—”
“Children,” she finishes.
Her breath hitches. “My cousin,” she says, voice tight. “They took her. Thought no one would notice.”
Yuma remembers clearly then — the blood, the chains, the small fae girl too proud to cry even with iron burning her skin.
Creatures crossed borders all the time — wolves passed through fae forests, sirens surfaced near human ports, warlocks wandered wherever knowledge called them. Hatred between species wasn’t illegal. Distrust wasn’t punished. Violence, when it happened, was usually… unfortunate. Regrettable.
Forgotten. But politics?
That was different.
No one interfered with another race’s internal wars. No one exposed trafficking, power harvesting, or blood deals made in shadow. You could travel wherever you wanted — but the moment you chose to act, you were responsible for what followed.
And when Yuma broke the Night Court’s high fae hold on that fae child, dragged her screaming and furious and alive back into the light.
He hadn’t just crossed a border. He’d shattered an unspoken law.
Something breaks in the space between them. Slowly, deliberately, the masked fae reaches up and removes her mask. The world tilts.
She’s not what Yuma expects — not soft, not delicate. Sharp cheekbones. Battle-worn grace. Eyes like polished emerald, glowing faintly with magic that sees too much. A scar curves along her jaw, half-hidden beneath strands of silver-dark hair.
She studies him openly now. Unmasked. Unshielded. Then, softer, almost to herself: “You didn’t hesitate.”
Yuma swallows. “Kids don’t deserve cages.”
And then it hits him.
Not pain — not like the bond his packmates described.
This is a drop. A freefall.
Like the ground has disappeared beneath his feet and he doesn’t care if he ever lands.
Gods. So this is it.
She exhales slowly, something unreadable flickering across her face. “I wondered who you were,” she admits. “I thought I’d imagined you.”
“I didn’t,” Yuma says, before his brain can catch up with his mouth. “Imagine you. I mean. I—”
Smooth, idiot. Very smooth.
A corner of her mouth twitches. Just barely. Something flickers in her eyes — relief, grief, gratitude — all tangled together.
“You broke an ancient agreement that night,” she says quietly. “You spilled wolf blood on fae soil to save one of ours.”
“I’d do it again,” he says without thinking.
He realises it only after the words leave his mouth — that he means all of it Not just the past. Not just her cousin.
Her lips part, just slightly. Around them, the fae have gone completely still. Watching. Listening. Waiting for her lead. “You cost yourself protection that night,” She continues. “The Night Court marked you for it.”
Yuma snorts faintly. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone wants me dead.”
Her gaze sharpens — not amused. Concerned. “Then you’re either very brave,” she says, “or very foolish.”
He smiles, crooked. “Bit of both.” That earns him the ghost of a smile in return — small, genuine, gone too quickly.
She straightens. The leader again.
“We owe you,” she says, turning so her voice carries. “Not because of blood debt. Not because of law.”
Her eyes flick back to Yuma. “But because you remembered we’re people.”
The last word lands heavy.
“My name,” she says, “is—” She stops. Her gaze sharpens, distant for half a heartbeat — pupils flaring as something pulls through her.
A flash.
Blood. Fire. Wolves running through smoke. A battlefield soaked in magic.
Her breath catches.
Yuma steps forward without thinking. “Are you—?”
She blinks — hard — grounding herself. “My name is Aura, and these are my people…We will help you,” she says instead, voice steadier than her eyes. “But understand this, wolf.”
She meets his gaze fully now.
“The debt you carry has now been paid.”
Then, softer — just for him: “Anything more you ask of us… will change everything.”
The fae don’t take them deeper into the forest.
Instead, they turn sideways through it.
The path narrows until it’s barely more than a suggestion — branches arching low, roots forming natural steps, the air growing cooler and strangely still. Yuma expects glamour, illusions, some grand reveal.
What he gets is… modest.
A clearing opens ahead, tucked between towering trees whose canopies knit together like a roof. Stone dwellings are carved directly into the earth and roots, low and practical, smoke curling from simple chimneys. Training rings scar the ground — dirt worn smooth by countless falls and recoveries. Weapons racks line the perimeter. No fountains. No glowing spires. No excess.
“This is it?” Nicholas blurts before he can stop himself.
Aura doesn’t bristle. Doesn’t rise to the bait. “This is home,” she says simply.
Yuma watches her as they walk. She moves like she belongs to the land — not commanding it, not bending it. Just… existing alongside it.
“It’s cozy,” Euijoo says carefully, diplomatic as ever.
“Independent,” Aura corrects. “By choice.”
She leads them to the centre of the clearing, where several fae are already watching — wary, curious, hands never far from their weapons. “We’re not aligned with the seasonal courts,” Aura continues. “No Day. No Night. No Dawn or Dusk.”
Fuma snorts quietly. “And why’s that?”
Aura stops walking. Turns to face them. “Because every fae is born with something,” she says. “A gift. A curse. A trick of magic that makes the courts powerful.”
She gestures vaguely, unimpressed. “Day court fae make flowers bloom with every step. Night court whispers fear into the bones of anyone who lingers too long. Others warp time. Shape dreams. Twist minds.”
Her gaze sharpens. “And those without such gifts?” she asks. “We get used.”
Yuma feels it click into place. “Is that why they tried kidnapping your cousin?”
“The high fae believe power can be drawn out,” Aura says, her tone cool and practiced. “That if a child is pushed hard enough — starved, trained, broken — something will awaken.”
Her jaw tightens. “Some are sent to those camps willingly. Promised status. Protection. Purpose.” A pause. “Others are taken.”
She steps closer to the wolves, gaze sweeping over them with open assessment now. “Those without gifts are expendable to the courts. Raw material. Tests.”
Her eyes return to Yuma. “So when a wolf breaks an ancient boundary — risks retaliation, war, erasure — to pull one of ours out alive…”
Aura inclines her head, solemn. “We owe him our lives.”
“But in our court, we have no such gifts,” Aura says. Her mouth curves — not quite a smile, not quite bitterness. “They called us unnecessary.”
One of the fae behind her scoffs. “Dead weight.”
Aura doesn’t correct them. “So we learned early,” she continues evenly, “that magic isn’t the only way to survive.”
She gestures toward the clearing — the packed dirt of the training rings, the grooves carved by years of combat, the weapons worn smooth by use. Every fae present stands with the easy balance of someone who knows exactly how fast they can kill.
“We train,” she says. “We fight. We adapt.”
Taki studies them with new eyes. “Hand-to-hand?”
“And blades,” Aura says. “And traps. And patience.”
Nicholas whistles under his breath. “So just… a bunch of rejects?”
Several fae bristle, fingers tightening on hilts. Aura only tilts her head. “If that’s the word you need.”
Yuma’s chest tightens — not pity. Respect. Recognition.
He watches her then, really watches her — the way her attention never fully settles on one thing. How her gaze drifts not just to the wolves, but to the wind through the branches, the subtle shift in light, the silence between breaths.
Like she’s listening to something that isn’t meant for him. Or anyone.
“So,” Euijoo says, steady, deliberate. “Will you help us?”
Aura meets his gaze and holds it long enough that the forest seems to lean in.
“You’re asking us to move against leviathians,” she says. “Creatures who hunger for healing magic. Regeneration.”
“Yes,” Euijoo answers without hesitation. “And they already have a dryad.”
That does it. Something flickers across Aura’s face — sharp, visceral, gone before Yuma can fully grasp it. “Willow of the western river,” she says quietly.
Harua’s head snaps up. “You know her?”
“She is… known,” Aura replies. “Among those who listen. Among those who survive.”
The relief that flashes across Harua’s face is fragile. “That’s my mate. Please… you have to help her—“
Yuma feels it — and notices how Aura does not offer comfort. Only truth. “We will help you find her,” Aura continues. “We know the old crossings. The places water touches stone. The paths leviathians prefer when they don’t wish to be seen.”
Hope stirs. Then she adds, calmly, “But we will not fight your war.”
The words land like a blade placed gently against a throat.
Euijoo stiffens. “You just said—”
“I said we would help you find her,” Aura corrects, voice unyielding. “Not die for your causes.”
She looks around at her court — at the fae who have survived by staying small, sharp, and overlooked. “We are not soldiers,” she says. “We are not expendable. And we will not be bait.”
Her gaze slides back to Yuma. Lingers.
“But,” she adds, softer now, “we owe debts. And we honour them.”
Yuma’s pulse stutters. He doesn’t know why that feels less reassuring than it should.
Aura inclines her head. “We will guide you to where she is being held.”
A pause.
“What you do once you get there,” she finishes, “is your burden to carry.”
The forest exhales.
Yuma tells himself the unease curling in his gut is just nerves. Just strategy. Just the weight of war. He does not consider — not yet — that the fae never give without taking something in return.
And that love, especially, has always been a kind of bargain.
Yuma should have been at the perimeter.
That’s where Euijoo expects him — eyes sharp, ears tuned to the forest’s breath, posture loose but ready. Yuma has always been good at the edges of things. Watching. Listening. Not missing what others overlook.
Instead, Euijoo spots him near the training rings. Too close.
Aura is there, speaking quietly with two of her people. She isn’t gesturing. Isn’t commanding. Just listening — the way she always does — head tilted slightly, weight balanced, as if the ground itself is feeding her information.
Yuma stands a little behind her. Not guarding. Hovering.
Euijoo’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
It isn’t possessive in the way young wolves get with new bonds. It’s worse than that — it’s distracted. Yuma’s attention keeps drifting, tracking Aura’s movements instead of the fae around her. When someone passes too close, Yuma shifts without thinking, subtly repositioning himself between them.
Protective. Premature.
Euijoo watches him miss a signal.
Just one — a hand sign from Fuma across the clearing, meant to indicate a change in watch rotation. Yuma doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even look.
That’s new.
“Has he eaten?” Nicholas murmurs from beside Euijoo, following his gaze.
“Not since morning,” Taki answers quietly. “I offered. He said he’d get to it.”
Euijoo exhales through his nose. Of course he did.
Aura laughs softly at something one of her people says — a brief sound, gone almost as soon as it appears. Yuma’s head turns instantly, eyes catching on her expression like it matters more than it should.
Like it’s anchoring him.
Euijoo feels something cold settle in his chest. This isn’t peace making him careless. This is war finding a weak point.
Across the clearing, Aura’s gaze flicks up — sharp, sudden — and for half a heartbeat, it almost looks like she’s looking straight at Euijoo.
Not challengingly. Assessing. Then her eyes slide away again, back to her people.
Euijoo doesn’t like that she noticed him noticing. He steps forward, decision already made.
“K,” he says quietly.
K’s attention snaps to him immediately. “Yeah.”
“Keep an eye on the perimeter,” Euijoo adds. “I’ll handle Yuma.”
K follows his gaze, sees it instantly — the proximity, the way Yuma’s body is angled inward instead of outward.
His brow furrows. “You sure?”
“No,” Euijoo says honestly. “That’s why I need to.”
As he starts toward them, Yuma finally looks up — too late — and meets his alpha’s eyes.
For just a second, something flickers across Yuma’s face.
Guilt. Then defensiveness. Then something deeper. Fear.
Euijoo keeps walking towards him.
War doesn’t wait for mates to settle.
And whatever this is between Yuma and the fae— Euijoo knows it with the certainty of someone who has led too many into battle — It will cost them.
“Walk with me.”
Euijoo doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t need to.
Yuma stiffens anyway.
Aura is mid-sentence when Yuma steps back, already shaking his head. “I’ll be right back,” he tells her, too quickly. Too soft. Like a promise.
Euijoo clocks it. Stores it away.
They move toward the edge of the clearing where the trees thicken, away from listening ears. Fuma follows without being told, falling into step a pace behind them — not a guard, not a witness. A buffer.
The moment they’re far enough that voices won’t carry, Euijoo stops.
“You’re off rotation,” he says.
Yuma opens his mouth. Closes it again. “I know.”
“You missed a hand signal.”
“I said I know.”
Euijoo turns then, fully facing him. “This isn’t a game, Yuma. We’re on fae ground, on the brink of a war we may not survive, and you’re acting like—”
Silence stretches between them. Around them, the camp hums — fae moving, metal clinking, low voices. Too many ears.
Yuma exhales. “I won’t let anything happen here.”
“That’s not your call,” Euijoo says. “Your job is to protect the pack. Not one fae.”
Yuma’s fists clench at his sides. “You don’t get to—”
“I get to,” Euijoo cuts in, voice low now, dangerous in its control, “because I’m the one who has to count bodies when this is over. I’m the one who has to look Willow in the eye if Harua doesn’t come back whole. I’m the one who has to break promises to mates because war doesn’t care who you love.”
Yuma’s eyes flash. “She’s not just—” He stops himself. Too late.
Euijoo’s gaze sharpens. “Not just what?”
Yuma’s hands curl at his sides. “You know what she is to me.”
“I know what she might be,” Euijoo corrects. “And I know what war does to wolves who forget themselves.”
That does it.
Yuma takes a step forward, voice dropping. “You’re talking about her like she’s a liability.”
“I’m talking about fae,” Euijoo replies. “And you know better than anyone what they’re like.”
Yuma laughs once — sharp, humourless. “No. You know what you’ve heard.”
Euijoo’s expression hardens. “They trade in half-truths. Debts that rot over time. They don’t give without taking.”
“And wolves have never done worse?” Yuma snaps.
Euijoo exhales sharply, jaw tight. “This is exactly what I mean.”
Yuma’s voice drops, rough. “You’re wrong about her.”
Fuma moves instantly, stepping between them before Euijoo can respond.
“Alright,” he says low, firm. “Outside. Now.”
Euijoo doesn’t look away from Yuma. “You’re letting this cloud your judgment.”
“And you’re dismissing her because she’s fae,” Yuma fires back. “She saved us from getting killed earlier. She’s helping us find Harua’s mate.”
“She’s helping us on her terms,” Euijoo says. “Which we don’t know yet.”
Fuma grabs Yuma by the arm, not roughly but with unmistakable authority. “Come on,” he mutters. “Let’s cool this before someone says something they can’t take back.”
“This is my mate,” he says, voice tight, raw. “I won’t hear her spoken about like she’s a trick waiting to happen.”
The word mate lands like a blade between ribs.
Euijoo finally reacts, “You’re orbiting a fae who has known you for less than a day like she’s your anchor.”
“And I know,” Yuma says fiercely. “And what about it? This is what mates are supposed to be.”
Fuma steps fully between them now, pushing both back with a growl that brooks no argument. “We’re not doing this in front of the fae.”
He hooks a hand into the collar of Yuma’s jacket and jerks his head toward the outer ring. “Move.”
Euijoo turns sharply and strides away, jaw set, Fuma dragging Yuma after him.
They pass between tents and carved stone before a scream rips through the camp.
High. Sharp. Wrong.
It comes from one of the smaller dwellings near the tree line.
Aura’s.
Yuma freezes.
Every instinct in him snaps to attention, heart slamming against his ribs.
Fuma swears under his breath. “That’s—”
Another cry — choked this time, fractured, as if the sound itself is tearing on the way out.
Magic shudders through the air. Not casting. Breaking.
Yuma is already moving.
They don’t make it three steps before they’re stopped.
Fae move as one — silent, precise — bodies forming a living wall around the tent. Blades don’t rise, but hands settle on hilts. Stances lower. Protective.
“No one enters,” one of them says sharply.
Yuma skids to a halt, breath coming fast. “That’s my—” Fuma catches his arm. Hard. A warning.
Euijoo steps forward instead, voice measured, neutral. “What’s happening in there?”
The fae doesn’t answer.
Another scream cuts through the canvas — shorter now, strangled, as if Aura’s throat is closing around the sound.
Yuma flinches. His wolf surges under his skin. “She needs help.”
“You don’t know that,” Euijoo says quietly — not to Yuma, but to the fae. “And neither do we.”
A fae woman snaps back, eyes blazing. “This is fae business.”
“Are you hurting her?” Yuma demands and the fae laugh incredulously, as if they were shocked that he would even say that.
“And why would we do that?” A fae speaks, holding a spear up to Yuma. “She is our great leader. We are merely helping her from fools sticking their nose in places they don’t belong.”
Yuma shakes his head, frantic now. “We have a healer. Harua. He can stabilise her—whatever this is.”
“No,” the same fae says, sharper. “He cannot.”
Another voice joins in, lower. “This is not an injury.” The ground beneath them hums.
Yuma swallows. “Then let me in. I can calm her.”
That earns him another laugh — brittle, humourless. “You wolves are the reason she’s like this,” one of them says.
That stops him cold.
Euijoo’s gaze sharpens immediately. “Explain.”
The fae doesn’t.
Instead, the guards tighten formation as Aura’s screams surges again — light bleeding through the seams of the tent, green and blinding, symbols briefly burning against the canvas before vanishing.
What is happening? Fuma’s breath catches. He shifts sideways, just enough. Through the narrow gap between two fae shoulders, he sees inside.
Aura is on her knees.
Her hands are clawed into the earth, knuckles white, body bowed like she’s holding herself together by force alone. Her eyes glow violently emerald — not shining, not divine — raging. Magic spills from her in uncontrolled waves, warping the air like heat over stone.
And her arms—
Fuma’s stomach drops.
Symbols burn across the inside of her forearms. Not markings. Not tattoos. Sigils.
They crawl beneath her skin, ancient and angular, flaring and fading in jagged patterns — wrong in a way that makes his wolf recoil. He’s never seen runes like these. Not in fae lands. Not in old packs. Not in war.
They don’t sit on her. They’re trying to get out.
“Aura,” one of the fae inside whispers desperately. “Breathe. Don’t look. Don’t—”
The sound that tears from her mouth next isn’t a scream. It’s a word.
Broken. Layered. Too many voices stacked into one.
Fuma stumbles back a step.
“Euijoo,” he mutters under his breath. “Remember when Aura said her court had nothing?”
Euijoo doesn’t respond immediately.
“This isn’t nothing.”
Euijoo’s fingers curl at his side as he watches the tent, mind racing — calculating risks, debts, consequences. Are the fae tricking them right now? Did they just walk into a trap just like that? Literally minutes ago, Aura was saying their court was powerless.
Euijoo and Fuma exchange a quick, loaded glance. Yuma is frozen where he stands, eyes locked on Aura’s tent. He doesn’t want to move.
“Yuma,” Euijoo says firmly. “Now.”
“No. I’m not leaving,” Yuma snaps, taking a step toward the tent. His hands clench into fists, knuckles white. “I need to see—”
Fuma growls low, shifting to block him. “We need to talk to the pack. Come on.”
“I’m not leaving her,” Yuma mutters, voice tight.
Yuma fights them. Not with claws or teeth — with stubborn, desperate strength, boots digging into the dirt as Euijoo and Fuma drag him backward from the tent.
“Let go,” Yuma snaps, twisting violently. “She needs me—”
“She needs space,” Fuma growls back, tightening his grip. “And you’re not helping.”
“You don’t know that!”
Euijoo says nothing. He just locks his arm around Yuma’s shoulders and hauls him away, alpha strength leaving no room for argument.
Yuma’s protests dissolve into raw frustration as they half-carry him across the clearing, past watching fae who pretend very hard not to see. The moment the wolves’ tent flap closes behind them, the air inside turns sharp and breathless.
The wolves’ tent is modest but warm. Most of the pack is already inside, gathered close in a huddle. Harua is pacing at the edge, his bandages still fresh, his bloodshot eyes alert. Maki and K hover near the doorway, weapons ready, but tension thick in the air.
“What happened?” Nicholas demands.
Fuma doesn’t sit. He stays standing. Arms crossed. Face tight.
“There’s something wrong with her,” he says bluntly.
The tent goes still.
“Wrong how?” Jo asks carefully.
Fuma exhales. “She’s not powerless. Not even close.”
He kneels in the center, voice hushed but urgent. “I saw something. Aura — she’s not what she said. She’s hiding… powers. I don’t know how strong or what it is, but it’s… wrong. It looks ancient.”
Hushed gasps ripple through the pack. Some mutter between themselves, eyes darting toward Yuma, toward the tent where Aura is, still unseen.
Yuma leans against Euijoo, still trying to catch his breath. “It’s not what it looks like—there’s probably a reasonable explanation. She could have been… practicing. Controlling energy. Nothing threatening, I’m sure.” His voice wavers. He hasn’t fully processed what he saw, hasn’t let himself believe it.
Aura said it herself though. The fact that no fae in her court possessed any sort of powers. So what was going on in that tent?
The truth is — he doesn’t want to see it clearly yet. Not the way Fuma has. Not past the way Aura’s eyes looked when she said his name.
Harua shifts where he sits, face pale but resolute. “But we can’t leave,” he says hoarsely. “We don’t have time for guessing. Whatever it is, it’s why we’re here. And it’s why I’m not leaving.” His gaze sweeps over the pack, each of them feeling the weight behind it. “If we leave now, we’ll lose her. We can’t risk it.”
All eyes turn to him.
“They’re our only lead,” he continues. “If the fae know the rivers, the old paths — they can find Willow.” His voice cracks. “If we leave now, we lose her.”
Silence.
Euijoo closes his eyes briefly. Opens them again. He pinches the bridge of his noise and he can’t believe it when he says: “Then we stay,” he says. “But no one forgets what we just learned tonight.”
Euijoo’s jaw tightens. “We follow her rules for now. But we remain alert. Nothing from the fae is free. Nothing. Yuma, keep your head — no distractions.”
Yuma bristles but stays quiet. He’s watching the entrance to Aura’s tent, heart still pounding.
Hours pass. Eventually, Aura emerges, composed, calm, as if nothing had happened. She walks to the wolves, her expression serene.
“We have now prepared enough to move,” she says smoothly. “We can guide you toward your mate. But you must understand, we do not enter the war with you. We do not fight leviathians. We provide information — nothing more.”
Euijoo eyes her closely. “And the display earlier?” he asks carefully. “That… what we saw?”
Aura inclines her head, carefully measured. “A precaution. Nothing more. Nothing that affects you.”
Yuma doesn’t believe it. His eyes narrow. Fuma leans slightly forward, tense, waiting to see if Aura’s facade cracks. But she doesn’t — not fully.
She leans on a table, accidentally knocking a dagger off.
Both Yuma and Aura reach for it at the same time. Their hands brush. The touch is brief but electric, and Aura flinches slightly. The green glow in her eyes flickers, just at the corners.
For a moment, the air hums — low, wrong, like something breathing where it shouldn’t. The temperature seems to shift. The shadows twist unnaturally along the edges of the tent. Aura’s eyes widen, pupils narrowing as if she’s seeing something else entirely — something no one else can see.
Yuma freezes, heart hammering. “Aura?”
She blinks rapidly, pulling herself together. “We move at dawn,” she says, voice steadier than it feels. “I’ll meet you boys out front.”
But Yuma knows. Whatever she’s hiding, it’s far from over — and the war is already here.
The forest changes as they move.
The trees grow closer together, branches tangling overhead like clasped fingers. Light filters through in thin, broken stripes. The Veil Court slips through it with ease. They don’t walk so much as vanish between trunks, reappearing yards ahead like ghosts who know every scar in the land.
The wolves don’t relax for a second.
Every snapped twig makes ears twitch. Every laugh from the fae sends hands drifting closer to weapons. It doesn’t help that the fae keep… messing with them.
One minute Harua swears someone moved his bag when he wasn’t looking.
The next, Fuma nearly falls into a shallow pit disguised with leaves — only saved because Euijoo grabs him by the collar at the last second.
A tiny fae perched in a tree throws down an acorn that hits Taki square on the head. Hard.
“Sorry!” they chirp, not sounding sorry at all.
Taki growls. The fae laugh. Euijoo’s jaw stays tight the entire time.
Yuma tries to stay near Aura. Really, he does.
But she’s always surrounded — two fae flanking her like shadows, murmuring in a language he can’t understand. They lean in close when she speaks, protective in a way that makes something twist uncomfortably in his chest.
So he falls back. Ends up walking beside K.
He doesn’t realise he’s sulking until K nudges him with an elbow. “You’re dragging your feet,” K mutters. “You plan on tripping into a trap or just brooding yourself into one?”
Yuma scowls. “I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
They walk in silence for a few steps. The forest hums around them — insects, distant birds, the faint sound of water somewhere far off.
“She’s busy,” K says eventually, not looking at him. “Court business. You knew it’d be like this.”
Yuma huffs. “Yeah. I know. It’s just—”
He trails off. “Wait, how’d you know?”
“That she’s your mate?” K scoffs. “Yuma, you’re just like a wolf pup around her with those googly eyes. And you back her up more than you back any of us up and you’ve known her for less than 24 hours.”
“I just never felt so… enamoured by someone before.” Yuma sighs dramatically, “And now I can’t even have more than 2 sentences of a conversation with her. How do I even tell her that we’re bonded?”
K glances sideways. “You thought you’d get some dramatic mate moment? Locked eyes, world stops, destiny fireworks?”
“…Maybe,” Yuma admits quietly.
K snorts. “Rookie mistake.”
Yuma shoots him a look. “Says you.”
K’s expression softens just a fraction. “Says someone who almost got himself killed by his mate thinking the moon was gonna make things easy.”
They keep walking.
“The bond isn’t a reward,” K continues. “It’s a responsibility. The Moon doesn’t pick mates because it’s romantic. It picks them because it’s cruel enough to know what you need, not what you want.”
Yuma’s fingers curl. “So what, I’m supposed to just… ignore her? Pretend I don’t feel this?”
“No,” K says. “You’re supposed to not let it blind you.”
He finally looks at Yuma properly. “This isn’t a courtship. It’s war. Leviathians are torturing Harua’s mate. Your alpha’s barely holding the pack together. People are gonna die.”
The words hit harder than any blade.
“If you screw up because you’re chasing a fairytale,” K says quietly, “you don’t just lose her. You lose us.”
Yuma swallows. “I know,” he whispers. “I just… I don’t want to mess this up.”
K claps a hand on his shoulder. “Then don’t. Do what she’s doing.”
Yuma glances ahead. Aura walks at the front, eyes scanning the forest, posture sharp, controlled. She doesn’t laugh at the pranks. Doesn’t look back. Every step is calculated.
Focused.
“She’s not distracted,” K says. “You shouldn’t be either.”
Yuma exhales slowly. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “You’re right.”
But the pranks don’t stop.
They evolve.
Nicholas nearly trips over a dagger planted on the ground he was walking on, pointing straight at him, ready to pierce through his feet.
Jo swings his spear at a fae who plucked a seashell off his satchel — a gift from his mate — only stopping at the last second when Maki snatches it back from the fae.
A swarm of glowing insects descends on Harua after a fae ‘accidentally’ drops a honeycomb on him while snacking stinging until his old wounds reopen.
“That’s enough,” Euijoo snaps, spinning on the nearest fae. “Call it off.”
The fae only smile. “War makes everyone tense,” one chirps. “We’re easing it.”
“You sure you’re not provoking it?” Fuma growls.
One prank too many — three fae swinging their bags that were tied together to trip the wolves mid-swing — and Nicholas lunges.
The fae reacts instantly. They whoop in their own strange language.
Nicholas shifts halfway, teeth bared. Steel scrapes free. Someone shoves someone else. It’s seconds from bloodshed.
Then—
A blur.
A fae at the back of the group vanishes.
No warning. No flash. Just—
Gone. A muffled scream rips through the trees. Cut short. Silence crashes down.
Aura whirls. Her face drains of colour. “No—”
The air changes. Heavy. Rotting. Wet.
The forest doesn’t sound alive anymore.
That scream echoes again in Yuma’s head as something moves between the trunks.
Aura’s voice shakes. “We crossed it.”
Euijoo’s hackles rise. “Crossed what?”
“Leviathian territory.”
The words barely land before— The ground erupts.
Black tendrils whip up from the soil, wrapping around Maki's leg and yanking him flat. Bark explodes as something massive slams into a tree. A fae is hurled through the air, skin tearing as they hit a trunk with a wet crack.
“Eyes up!” Euijoo roars.
Blades flash. Claws tear. Something shrieks — high and wrong, like metal screaming.
A shadow lunges at Yuma. He barely ducks as teeth snap where his throat was a second ago. He slashes upward, blade sinking into slick flesh that doesn’t bleed — it leaks thick black tar instead.
Harua draws an arrow and looks for a target. In a split second, he sees a spitting image of himself staring back at him.
“What the fuck—” Harua breathes.
The other him melts away and standing its place is a leviathian — all spines and stretched skin, eyes too many, mouth splitting sideways as it grins.
Another fae is snatched into the canopy.
Screaming. Then nothing.
Yuma turns just in time to see Aura shoved to the ground by her guards as something lunges for her. She glides across the grass, hands desperately patting her back down to look for a weapon.
Without hesitation, he strides over to her and pounces on the looming leviathans behind her, waiting to strike at the perfect moment.
Blood slicks the forest floor. Not just red — black too. Thick. Oily. It clings to boots, to fur, to blades. The air reeks of rot and copper, of something ancient dragged up from the deep. And Yuma tears through it.
A leviathian lunges — too fast to track — and he meets it head-on, steel biting into warped flesh. The creature shrieks, a sound like glass snapping in half. He twists his wrist, rips the blade free, black sludge spraying across his arms.
Behind him is Aura. She moves like she was born in war. Ducking under snapping jaws. Rolling beneath clawed limbs. Her dagger flashes silver, carving precise, brutal strikes. She doesn’t waste motion. Every kill is clean. Efficient. Ruthless.
Yuma glances back just in time to see her leap onto a leviathian’s spine, drive her blade between its vertebrae, and wrench it sideways. The creature collapses in on itself, twitching.
Something sparks in his chest.
Not fear. Not lust. Recognition.
Mine.
Aura catches him looking.
For half a second, in the middle of slaughter, her mouth curves — sharp, wild. Blood streaks her cheek. Her eyes glow faintly, not magic-bright, just adrenaline.
She finds him beautiful like this.
Savage. Focused. Wolf and man fused into one lethal thing.
She pivots, tossing him a blade mid-fight. He catches it without looking, their timing seamless, bodies moving like they’ve done this a hundred times.
They don’t talk. They just move.
A leviathian charges her blind side. Yuma barrels into it, shoulder slamming ribs with a crack. Aura doesn’t hesitate — she uses his back as leverage, springing off him to drive her dagger straight through its skull.
Black ichor showers them both.
She laughs once — breathless, feral. He stares at her.
Gods. She’s beautiful. It’s wrong. Twisted. War-bright. But he can’t look away.
That’s when she sees him. Euijoo. Standing behind her. Too still.
His head tilts at an unnatural angle.
“Aura..” he says. But his tone sounds off.
Her heart stutters, “Dude, you gotta get out of the way—“
And he moves. Faster than sound.
His fist slams into her face. Bone cracks.
She flies backward, hits the ground hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. The world tilts — red, black, white.
The illusion melts. The thing isn’t Euijoo anymore. It’s smiling.
That’s the last thing she sees before her vision blurs and all she sees is emerald. The world starts shattering around her.
Fuma is on his knees.
Screaming.
Tears carve lines through dirt on his face. Bodies are everywhere — wolves, fae, leviathans, sirens torn open, twisted, dead.
Blood soaks the ground.
He’s clutching someone.
A girl.
Her face is hidden by her hair, matted with blood. Her chest barely moves. There’s too much red.
“Don’t,” Fuma sobs. “Please don’t—stay—please—”
Her hand slips from his grip.
Aura screams—
She slams back into her body.
Gasping.
Crawling.
Pain explodes behind her eyes. Her arms burn — sigils flash and vanish beneath her skin like something trying to claw out.
She collapses. The world spins.
Someone grabs her.
Yuma drops to his knees, hauling her into his arms like she weighs nothing. “Aura—hey—look at me—”
Her eyes flutter. Emerald still glowing faintly. He notices. He sees the runes glowing.
“Harua!” Yuma screams over the chaos. “HARUA—NOW!”
He shields her with his body as a leviathian crashes nearby, blade in one hand, her pressed to his chest.
“Stay with me,” he begs. “Please—don’t you dare—”
Harua skids in, bloodied, breathless, hands already glowing faint with healing magic. “What happened?”
“She just—she got hit —hit her head—” Yuma lies. Even to himself.
He doesn’t mention the glow. Doesn’t mention the way the air warped around her. Doesn’t mention the symbols. Because if he does— They’ll take her.
Steel rings against bone. Something screams. Not human. Not fae. Something wrong — stretched, broken, hungry.
The fae close ranks around them.
A living wall of bodies and blades, circling Yuma, Aura, and Harua as the forest collapses into chaos. Leviathians dart in and out of the shadows, too fast to track, their forms shifting mid-strike — claws becoming hands, faces becoming familiar ones.
Aura is slumped against Yuma’s chest.
There’s a gash across her temple, blood pouring freely down her face, matting her hair. Her eyes drift, unfocused, pupils blown wide. She gasps like she’s drowning on dry land.
Harua presses his glowing hands to her wound.
The skin knits instantly. Too instantly. Yuma notices. Harua notices too. His breath catches.
“Another thing Willow taught me.” Harua mutters.
Aura doesn’t respond.
She claws weakly at Yuma’s jacket, fingers trembling, lungs hitching like they’ve forgotten how to work.
“Aura,” Yuma whispers. “Breathe. Hey—look at me—”
She can’t.
“Can’t you do something?” Yuma demands, looking at Harua desperately.
“I healed and closed her head wound, she should be fine by now. Where else does it hurt? Tell me what happened so I can help.” Harua aimlessly hovers his glowing hands.
Yuma and Aura can’t respond.
Harua grabs Yuma’s collar. “What happened to her?”
Yuma swallows. Hard. “I—I don’t know. She got hit. That’s it. I swear.”
It’s a lie. Not deliberate. Just incomplete. Because he doesn’t know what the hell that was — only that her eyes had glowed, that symbols had burned beneath her skin like something alive.
“Well?” Harua demands, looking at the fae surrounding them now.
The fae surrounding them stay silent. Too silent. They won’t meet Harua’s eyes. Won’t speak. Won’t explain.
Another scream cuts through the air.
Another fae goes down. The leviathians double. Then triple. They pour in from between trees, from above, from the ground itself — surrounding them, herding them inward. Cornering.
Euijoo rips one apart mid-shift, blade tearing through a face that’s half Fuma, half monster. “We’re being boxed in!” he yells.
Nicholas backs into Maki, panting. “This is bad. This is really bad.”
Aura inhales sharply. Forces words past her shaking lungs. “We… have to surrender.”
Everything stops.
“What?” Euijoo snaps. “No.”
Maki barks a laugh. “Is this one of your pranks? Because now is a really shitty time.”
“Absolutely not,” Fuma growls.
Aura drags herself upright, hands shaking but steady enough to hold her dagger. Her eyes are clear now. Too clear.
“If you want to find Willow,” she says quietly, “you have to be taken. This was the plan.”
Silence crashes over them.
Nicholas scoffs, “This was your grand plan? To lead us straight to the leviathan’s doorstep and present ourselves on a silver platter?”
“I didn’t know the leviathans had taken over this much more land,” Aura spits, “But you wanted me to bring you to their camp. Here you are.”
Jo stares. “And then what? We get taken by them?”
Aura nods once. “They won’t kill you,” she says. “Not yet. They need healers. They collect them. If you resist, they slaughter you. If you submit—” Her breath hitches. “They bring you straight to her.”
Harua goes still.
“You’re saying…” His voice breaks. “You’re saying she’s here.”
Aura doesn’t answer.
That’s answer enough.
Yuma tightens his grip on her. “This has got to be a trap.”
“Everything is a trap,” she murmurs. “But this one leads somewhere.”
The forest roars.
Leviathians close in, circling tighter.
Euijoo bares his teeth. “I don’t trust you.”
Aura meets his gaze. “You don’t have to. But you don’t have time.”
Another fae screams.
Harua steps forward to the leviathans with his hands raised, his bow and arrow on the ground.
Euijoo curses.
Long.
Hard.
Fuck…
“Prepare to drop your weapons,” he orders finally. “On my count.”
Yuma looks at Aura.
She looks back.
For a second — just a second — something unspoken passes between them.
Apology. Fear. Promise.
Chains bite into skin. Cold iron. Salt-stained. Old.
The dungeon reeks of brine and rot — seawater mixed with decay, like something drowned and left too long. The air is thick, wet, and wrong, clinging to their lungs with every breath. Somewhere deeper in the tunnels, something drips. Slow. Steady. Too rhythmic.
Harua is the first to break.
“Willow!” he shouts, straining against his restraints. “I know you have her! Take me instead—just let her go!”
A leviathian slithers forward.
Its body ripples like liquid shadow, then twists—
And suddenly it is Willow.
Her face. Her smile. The dimple in her cheek.
Harua chokes.
“Willow?” His voice cracks.
The thing tilts its head, mimicking her warmth. “You always were loud,” it coos.
Harua goes still.
The illusion melts.
Flesh peels back into scales.
“Shut. Up.” The leviathian backhands him.
Harua hits the stone wall hard, chains rattling violently. Blood spills from his mouth. The monster laughs — a wet, bubbling sound — before slithering away.
Across the cell, Euijoo hasn’t moved.
He’s gone pale. His eyes are distant — unfocused. This place remembers him. The iron. The smell. The shadows crawling over the walls like hands. Last time, he almost died under the Leviathians' watchful gaze. Last time, he underestimated them. A second leviathian steps forward.
It shifts. Becomes Nova.
Blue hair falling into familiar eyes. Soft smile. The scar on her collarbone Euijoo knows by heart.
“Ju...” Nova whispers, kneeling before him. “You’re shaking.”
Euijoo doesn’t realise he is. Nova cups his face gently, thumbs brushing his cheeks.
“It’s okay,” the creature murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
Euijoo exhales, closing his eyes.
Just once.
Then his eyes open.
The blue hair melts away.
Claws are buried in his skin.
Sharp.
Deep.
Blood trickles down his jaw.
Euijoo jerks back with a growl — but his stare stays cold. Steady. Unbroken.
The leviathian snarls and slams him back against the wall before stalking off, bored.
Yuma’s hands shake inside his chains.
His eyes search blindly for Aura.
She’s right beside him. Bound the same way. But she looks… wrong. Her shoulders slump. Head bowed. Hair matted with blood and sweat. Her skin is ashen, eyes sunken like something is pulling from inside her. Draining her.
He leans closer, keeping his voice low. “Aura,” he whispers. “Hey.”
Her eyes lift slowly.
Focused. Barely.
“Yuma…” Relief flashes across her face — small, but real.
He swallows. Hesitates. Chooses his words carefully. “Earlier… when you were hit,” he murmurs. “I saw something. On your arms.”
She stiffens.
Barely — but he feels it.
“Sigils,” he continues softly. “They were… glowing.”
Silence.
The chains creak as she shifts. Her eyes flick toward the guards.
Back to him.
“You shouldn’t have seen that,” she says quietly.
Not denial. Not confirmation. Just… warning.
“I’m not judging,” Yuma says quickly. “I just—if something’s hurting you, I want to help.”
Her lips part. Then close.
“You can’t,” she whispers. Something trembles in her chest. “Not this.”
Yuma’s heart pounds. “Why hide it?” he asks. “From us.”
From me. He wants to add.
Aura doesn’t answer at first.
The silence stretches, thick and heavy, filled only by the distant drip of brine and the wet sounds of something moving in the dark corridors beyond their cell.
When she finally speaks, her voice is barely there. “Power doesn’t belong to us,” she murmurs. “Not in my court. Not to people like me.”
Yuma frowns. “What does that mean?”
She exhales slowly, like each breath costs her something. “It means the moment anyone knows you’re different… you stop being a person. You become a resource.”
Her fingers curl around the chain between them. “The high fae hunt gifts. Collect them. Train them. Break them if they don’t cooperate.” A bitter laugh escapes her. “Leviathians aren’t so different.”
Yuma’s jaw tightens. “So you hide it.”
“I bury it,” she corrects. “If they think I’m useless, they leave me alone. They leave my court alone.”
Something raw flashes across her face. “I won’t be the reason my people get dragged into another war.”
Yuma softens. “Aura… you don’t have to carry it alone.”
She looks at him then. Really looks. And for a second, her walls crack. “I already did,” she whispers. “Once.”
Before he can ask, a scream rips through the dungeon.
High. Female. Agonised.
Harua jerks violently against his chains. “That’s Willow.”
The sound echoes down the stone corridors, followed by cruel laughter.
Yuma’s stomach drops.
Aura goes pale. Whatever she was about to say dies on her lips.
They huddle as close as their chains allow.
“Now,” Nicholas mutters. “We don’t get many chances like this.”
“When do we move?” Maki asks. “Because I swear if they shapeshift into me again—”
Euijoo stares at the wall.
Silent. Still. Eyes unfocused.
Fuma nudges him. “Euijoo?”
No response.
His jaw tightens. PTSD has him locked somewhere far away.
Taki leans in, whispering. “I can pick these. Easy. Sloppy craftsmanship. Get us out of these chains in a jiffy.”
Yuma glances at the guards. “And when they turn into you?”
Taki grimaces. “That’s the problem.”
“They’ll use our faces again,” Jo mutters. “Turn us on each other.”
Harua swallows hard. “Not after sunset.”
Everyone looks at him.
“They can’t shift once the sun goes down,” he says. “If they don’t change back in time… they get stuck.”
“Yes!” Nicholas says a little too excitedly, “Yes, yes! Nova had planted conditions when she granted the leviathans shapeshifting. They get stuck—“
“Wrong,” Harua finishes his sentence quietly. “Twisted. Half-formed. Like a body that can’t remember what it is.”
Then Yuma exhales slowly. “So we wait.”
“We watch,” Fuma adds.
“We learn their layout,” Taki nods. “Where Willow is. Who guards what.”
“And when dusk hits,” Maki cracks his knuckles, “we tear this place apart.”
Harua’s eyes burn. “For Willow.”
“For everyone they’ve hurt,” Jo adds.
Footsteps. Heavy. Wet. Multiple.
A leviathian guard stops in front of them, eyes glowing faintly. “Your friend screams beautifully,” it croons. “The dryad.”
Harua snarls, chains rattling. “You touch her again and I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” the creature laughs. “Bleed more?”
Aura flinches. Yuma moves subtly in front of her, shielding her as best he can despite the chains.
Dusk is coming.
Brine drips from the ceiling in slow, uneven rhythms. Somewhere deeper, something slithers. Chains scrape. Leviathians laugh in low, echoing tones — bored, cruel, waiting.
And still — the pack moves.
Not physically.
But mentally.
They’ve done this before. Not this place, not these monsters — but captivity, interrogation, manipulation. It’s muscle memory now.
Nicholas starts it first.
He slumps against the wall, eyes half-lidded, voice thick. “So,” he mutters lazily at a passing guard, “which one of you gets to kill us? Or do you draw straws?”
The leviathian sneers. “You’ll beg first.”
Nicholas smirks. “Why does everyone say that? It's getting boring.”
It leans closer.
Jo coughs violently, doubling over. “Water—” he rasps. “Please—”
Another guard approaches, irritated. “Stop faking.”
“I’m not,” Jo croaks, letting his voice crack just right. “Iron burns. You know it does.”
The creature hesitates. Taki catches the moment, whispering under his breath, “They don’t use iron. Chains are alloy. Cheap.”
Information logged.
Across the cell, Yuma is already working.
He slouches, shoulders shaking, eyes red. “I don’t get it,” he mutters loudly. “We helped you. We surrendered.”
A guard stops. “Or… hear me out. You’re just weak.”
Yuma laughs bitterly. “Yeah. Maybe. You’re gonna kill us anyway, right? At least tell me—” he looks up, eyes glassy, “what are you even using the dryad for?”
The leviathian’s lips curl. “Regeneration.”
Yuma gasps softly, feigning being scared. “I didn’t know you could drain it out of a dryad like that…”
“We can’t.” The leviathan scoffs. “The bitch keeps saying we have to master healing. Took a few jabs and she just shut down completely like some mute apart from her screaming but it’s whatever. Torture will pull something out of her eventually. Just like you pathetic idiots.”
“Shit,” Yuma whispers, shaking his head. “Why can’t you just bind us all in one room? You know—” he gestures vaguely, “Wouldn’t it be more fun to see us all in chains in one room?”
The guard snorts. “Now why would we do that? She does just fine in the lower chambers. We have to put her in the flood tunnels just because she screams so loud.”
Yuma flinches convincingly. “You’re a monster.”
Aura watches.
Not just him — the pack.
How Nicholas keeps a running commentary just irritating enough to draw attention away when Jo asks questions. How Maki starts an argument whenever a guard lingers too long. How Taki memorises footsteps. How Fuma quietly counts rotations. How Harua never stops listening for Willow.
They don’t need signals.
They move like shared instinct.
When one wolf gets too close — Maki suddenly jerks forward. “Hey! You said we’d get food!”
The guards turn.
Nicholas laughs. “He’s cranky when he’s hungry.”
Distraction successful.
Yuma slips in another question.
“Flood tunnels,” he repeats softly. “That’s where you bring new captives too?”
“Only the important ones.”
“Like… healers?” Yuma risks.
The leviathian stiffens. Then scoffs. “You wolves don’t know anything.”
“Yeah, I know right… Whatever shall I do….”
Aura’s chest tightens. She watches him lie. Charm. Manipulate. Protect.
He does it without thinking. Without ego. Just… instinct. For the pack.
K turns to the fae, voice low but commanding. “Eyes up. Don’t stare. Memorise exits. Count guards. If you want to live — you listen to me.”
Some bristle. But they obey. Because they see it now. This isn’t chaos. It’s coordination.
Aura looks back at Yuma. He catches her watching. Smiles faintly. For a second, despite chains and blood and war — it feels almost… normal.
Yuma moves quietly down the line, crouching where he can, whispering just loud enough for each wolf to hear.
“Lower chambers,” he murmurs. “Flood tunnels. Willow’s there.”
“Guard rotation every four minutes,” Fuma adds.
“Two entrances,” Nicholas says. “One from the holding cells. One through the water tunnels.”
“Forest exit leads north,” Jo whispers. “Border’s still holding. There’s a wolf den close.”
Yuma nods, eyes sharp. “That’s our fallback.”
Maki shifts closer to the wall, peering through a hairline crack. The last sliver of sun bleeds orange across stone. “Clock’s ticking,” he mutters. “They’ve got maybe sixty seconds left before they’re stuck in whatever faces they’re wearing.”
Taki is already working. His fingers move like ghosts, tiny metal slivers hidden between his knuckles. He keeps his head bowed, pretending to scratch at his wrists while carefully picking at Harua’s cuffs.
Click.
Harua’s eyes widen.
“Don’t move,” Taki breathes. “Not yet.”
One by one, he loosens them — never fully opening, just enough that they’ll snap free when pulled. Yuma watches the guards, forcing his breathing to stay uneven, still playing broken.
Aura’s chains come next. She flinches when she feels the pressure ease, eyes flicking to Taki.
“Trust me,” he whispers.
She nods once.
The sun sinks lower.
The light outside shifts — gold to amber to bruised blue.
Maki inhales. Then yells, loud and sharp, “HEY! YOU SAID WE’D EAT!” Every leviathian snaps toward him.
“What—”
Maki surges forward, shoulder-checking the nearest guard into the bars. The creature roars, claws flashing.
Chaos erupts.
That’s the signal.
Taki rips Harua’s chains apart.
Yuma tears free, metal clattering to the floor. Aura follows, wincing as she stumbles but staying upright. The fae and wolves snap loose in rapid succession — Jo, Nicholas, K, Fuma, Euijoo—
“NOW!” Taki hisses.
The levithians try to strike— some in their original form, others in constant pain in a mangled form of leviathan and some crossbreed between leviathans and wolves.
The pack and fae don’t hesitate, injuring the leviathians enough so Harua and Yuma can get to Willow and get out of the dungeon.
Harua is already running.
Yuma grabs Aura’s wrist. “Stay with me.”
They sprint down the corridor, boots slapping wet stone, ignoring shouts behind them. The air changes as they descend — colder, thicker, soaked with salt and rot. The flood tunnels. Water laps at their ankles. Chains hang from the ceiling like ribs. Somewhere deeper, something screams.
Harua’s breath hitches. “That’s her.” They turn the corner at his signal.
And there she is.
Willow is chained to the wall, wrists raw, vines wilting around her ankles, her dress made out of leaves all shrivelled up. Her head lifts weakly and her eyes widen when she sees her mate . “Harua?”
He drops to his knees beside her. “I’m here. Gods, I’m here.”
Yuma keeps watch, blades drawn.
Harua works on her chains, doing exactly what Taki taught him.
“Harua…” Willow whimpers, “I tried. I tried screaming, I tried using your bow to shoot them but— everything happened so quick— they took me away and I couldn’t— say bye to you— and it hurts. It hurts….”
Her chains finally break free and Harua holds her in his arms, rubbing her back comfortingly, “Shh… you’re okay. I promise.”
“Can you stand?”
“Barely,” she whispers.
He pulls her against him, sobbing into her hair.
Willow opens her eyes to see Yuma and Aura, “Oh my Gods.” She wipes off her tears. “You’re mates!”
Aura’s eyes widen to the size of saucers and Yuma chokes on his saliva.
“What—”
“Oh stars above— I haven’t really gotten to— not that it was a secret—”
Yuma stumbles over himself, almost dropping his knives in the process, trying to find the right words. “Probably the shittiest time to do this, I swear, was going to talk to you about this later but—“
Willow cuts him off, her hand slapping her mouth in shock, “You’re a seer!”
“I beg your finest pardon—”
“What—”
“Ok now this time, I haven’t really gotten to— again, not that it was a secret— ok maybe it was—” Aura stops middle of her sentence. “Wait a minute, how does she know all that?”
Harua and Willow both shrug, “Just weird like that.”
Behind them, screams and snarls echo — the pack fighting their way free.
“We have to move,” Harua urges. “They’ll regroup.”
“Can we talk about this later?” Aura and Yuma say at the same time.
Harua and Willow look at each other with a knowing look and a smirk plastered on their face.
Aura nods. “Yeah…The tunnel forks. Left leads out.”
They run.
Water splashes. Leviathians screech. Somewhere, Maki laughs like a man possessed.
A leviathian rushes them, face half-shifted, jaw splitting open— Aura reacts first. She slams her dagger into its throat, twisting hard. Black brine sprays. It collapses, shrieking.
Yuma stares for half a second. “Remind me to never piss you off.”
She huffs, shaky. “Focus.”
From a distance, they see the pack and the fae running towards them, they’re yelling something and waving their arms around frantically.
Harua squints his eyes at the blurry figures, “What are they saying…”
The group is drawing closer and their screams are louder now. Yuma strains his neck to look at the group who’s waving at them, “Are they saying hi?” He manages a small wave back.
Aura looks— really looks at the group, and she spots a bunch of black figures hot at their tail. And suddenly the group’s screaming makes sense — looking at their mouths, they were all screaming — “Run.”
“Let’s go. Let’s go!” She urges the other three, “They’re coming!”
Harua picks Willow up swiftly on his back, Aura grabs her dagger back from the leviathan’s corpse with a disgusting squelch. And the four start running for their lives.
They burst through the fork Aura pointed out, boots splashing through ankle-deep water as the tunnel slopes upward. The moonlight ahead feels unreal, like a promise they don’t trust yet.
Behind them—
A howl.
Not a wolf.
Not a leviathian either.
Something wrong.
The exit explodes into view — broken stone, roots clawing through cracked walls, cold forest air flooding their lungs. Harua nearly collapses carrying Willow, but Yuma grabs his shoulder.
“Almost there,” he pants. “Don’t stop now.”
They spill out into the clearing. And freeze.
Dozens of leviathians crawl from the trees — some fully shifted, others stuck halfway, bones bending wrong, mouths too wide, eyes mismatched. The failed shifters scream in pain as they move, dragging twisted limbs behind them.
“Gods…” Willow whispers.
Behind them, the rest of the pack bursts out one by one — bloodied but standing. Euijoo’s eyes are glassy, feral. Fuma’s knuckles drip black brine. K positions the fae behind him instinctively.
They form a line. Pack instinct.
Aura steps forward, blade raised. “North,” she says. “Jo said the wolf den’s that way.”
“On three,” Yuma mutters.
The leviathians charge first.
Everything explodes. Claws. Steel. Magic.
Nicholas shifts mid-stride, tackling one to the ground. Jo slashes another’s hamstrings. Fuma barrels through two at once. Euijoo moves on pure instinct, silent and terrifying.
One leviathian lunges for Willow but Harua fires an arrow through its skull, “Not her,” he growls.
Aura spins, daggers flashing, moving like she’s always known this fight. Yuma stays at her back, covering blind spots without thinking. They don’t even have to look.
Willow watches them for half a second. “Oh yeah,” she mutters. “Definitely mates.”
“WILLOW,” Harua yells.
“FOCUSING!”
A mangled leviathian screams and grabs Aura’s arm and Yuma slams his blade through its neck. She looks at him. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Their eyes meet. Just for a second. Something settles between them.
The forest becomes a battlefield.
Moonlight fractures through branches as steel meets scale, magic flares, and bodies crash into the mud. The pack has all shifted now — massive wolves tearing through leviathians with brutal precision. The group moves tactically, retreating toward the border of another wolf pack. There, they could ask for help.
At first, the leviathians push forward, hungry, convinced the group is cornered. Losing.
Then they hesitate.
Pull back.
They know this land. They’ve lost here before.
Still, they don’t stop.
They just fight dirtier.
Aura barely registers the blood on her hands anymore. Her lungs burn. Her legs shake. Every movement feels heavier than the last. She ducks under a snapping jaw, drives her dagger up into soft flesh, twists—
Something slams into her side.
Hard.
She’s thrown into a tree trunk away from Yuma, the breath crushed from her chest. Pain explodes through her ribs. Before she can recover, claws rake across her back, ripping fabric, skin, muscle.
She screams.
“AURA!”
Yuma’s voice tears through the chaos.
He spins toward her just in time to see a leviathian pounce, jaws snapping shut around her shoulder. It shakes her like a doll. Bone cracks.
“No—NO!”
He breaks formation, shoving past Euijoo, ignoring shouts.
The world narrows.
Just her.
Blood sprays as the creature tears into her side. Aura stabs blindly, weak, her blade slipping from numb fingers. She collapses, the leviathian towering over her—
Yuma tackles it.
They roll through mud and blood. He stabs. Again. Again. Doesn’t stop until black brine coats his arms and the thing finally collapses.
He crawls to her. Aura is barely conscious.
Blood bubbles at her lips. Her chest rises shallowly. One arm hangs wrong.
“Oh Gods—Aura—” His hands shake as he pulls her close. “Stay with me. Please. Please—”
Her eyes flutter open.
Focus.
Barely.
“Yuma…” she whispers.
His breath breaks. “Don’t you dare leave. You don’t get to—”
“I’m not,” she breathes. “I’m okay.”
A weak smile. Then she coughs — blood spilling down her chin.
Panic floods him.
“I—” His voice cracks. “I don’t know when it happened but— I think I— I mean, we’re mates. Okay? It’s like cupid himself came down and stabbed me in the heart when I first saw you and now I can’t stop hovering around you. I don’t care if it’s stupid or the wrong time but—” His forehead presses to hers. “I can’t lose you. Please. I just got you.”
Her eyes soften. “…You’re really shit at timing,” she wheezes.
A tear slips down his cheek. “I know.”
She grips his sleeve weakly. “Since we’re confessing things now… I guess I need to tell you something.”
“Later,” he pleads. “Tell me later.”
“No.” Her fingers tighten. “Now.”
He swallows.
“The dryad is right—I’m a seer,” she whispers.
He stills.
“Oracle,” she adds. “That’s what they call it.”
His heart stutters. “Aura—”
“I get visions. I can’t control them. When they happen, it feels like I’m not in my own body anymore… like something’s trying to crawl out of me—”
Her breathing shakes.
“I hid it to protect them,” she rushes. “My court. Other high fae would bind me. Drain me. Turn my sight into a weapon.” She coughs. “Leviathians too. They’d never let me go.”
Understanding crashes into him. “That’s why the sigils—”
“They glow when I have visions,” she nods faintly.
Her grip tightens.
“And I saw something… when we first met.”
Yuma’s blood runs cold. “What?”
“Battlefield,” she whispers. “Smoke. Screaming. Fuma was on his knees. Holding a woman.” Her eyes fill. “Crying like his heart’s been ripped out.”
Yuma’s throat tightens.
“I think she’s his mate,” Aura murmurs. “And… I don’t think it ends well.”
Silence stretches between them — broken only by distant fighting.
Yuma presses his forehead to hers. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” He doesn’t know if he’s convincing her… or himself.
A howl echoes.
The group surges forward again, overwhelming the last leviathians. The creatures retreat, screeching, dragging their wounded away as they cross invisible borders they refuse to pass.
A howl splits the night.
The pack surges forward, overwhelming the last leviathians. The creatures retreat, screeching, dragging their wounded as they cross invisible borders they refuse to pass.
Victory.
Barely.
Harua rushes over, Willow clinging to him. Fuma follows — bloodied, shaking, alive.
He freezes when he sees Aura.
“No—no—” Harua drops beside her. “She’s losing too much blood.”
The pack closes in. Yuma doesn’t move.
“She told me,” he whispers. “She’s a seer.”
Their eyes widen.
Aura lets out a weak laugh. “Great… secret keeping.”
“We have to keep her safe,” Yuma says fiercely, “We can’t let the leviathans take her. Do you know what they could do if they knew?”
Willow and Harua kneel, hands glowing as they work together. Willow mutters in an ancient healer tongue, vines trembling at her ankles.
“Broken arm,” Willow says. “Fractured ribs.” She looks at Aura gently. “Seers suffer backlash from visions. I have potions in my forest that can help.”
Aura exhales shakily.
Yuma tightens his grip on her hand.
“Then you have to go,” he says. “No arguments.”
The forest is quieter now. Not peaceful — just… holding its breath.
The bodies of fallen leviathians rot where they fell, black brine seeping into soil that refuses to claim them. The wolves stand in a loose circle, panting, bloodied, exhausted.
Euijoo steps forward first. “This is the best move,” he says firmly. “Aura, Willow — you go back with the fae. Heal. Regroup. Find anyone who will stand with us.” His eyes flick to the treeline. “We’ll cross the border. Get help here.”
The fae nods once. “We will take her home. Safely.”
Harua exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. He pulls Willow into his arms, burying his face in her hair. She clutches his tunic like she might fall apart if she lets go.
“You better not do anything stupid,” she whispers.
He lets out a broken laugh. “That’s rich coming from you.”
Her eyes shine. “I mean it, Harua. Stay alive.”
“I will.” He presses his forehead to hers. “You don’t get to die either. Not allowed.”
She smiles through tears. “Deal.”
“Aura straightens despite the pain, chin lifting. “I will keep her safe. You have my word.”
Harua grips her wrist. “Thank you.”
Willow wipes her eyes. “Okay. Bring reinforcements,” she says shakily. “Come back louder than ever. Sounds plenty easy.”
Yuma watches it all from a distance, chest tight.
When the others start moving, he slips closer to Aura. She’s sitting on a fallen log, arm splinted, face pale. He crouches in front of her immediately.
“Does it hurt?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t lie. I can see it hurts.”
“Okay, don’t ask then.” She snorts weakly. “Stop hovering.”
“I’m concerned,” he protests. “There’s a difference.”
He reaches out, hesitates, then carefully brushes dirt from her cheek. His thumb trembles. “I could come with you,” he blurts. “Just until you’re better. I’ll ask Euijoo—”
“No.” Aura cuts in gently. “You stay.”
He frowns. “Aura—”
“Your pack needs you,” she says. “And you’re needed here.” A beat. “I’ll be safe.”
He studies her face, searching for cracks. “You promise?” he whispers.
“I promise.” She smiles softly. “We’ll regroup. This isn’t goodbye.”
He swallows. “I hate this.”
She leans forward, forehead touching his. “So do I.”
Then her expression shifts. Steadier. Resolute. “There’s something else,” she murmurs. “I’ve been thinking.”
He pulls back slightly. “About…?”
“The war,” she says. “My court will help.”
His eyes widen. “You’re serious?”
“I am.” Her voice firms. “This isn’t just your fight. Leviathians won’t stop at your borders. The more allies we have, the better chance we stand.”
He stares at her like she just handed him the moon.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” she says quietly. “For my people. For Willow.” A pause. “For you.”
His heart stumbles.
“Then…” He laughs shakily. “Then we’re going to win.”
She smirks. “Obviously.”
They sit there for a moment, just breathing each other in.
Finally, K calls for the fae.
It’s time.
Harua hugs Willow again. Longer this time. Like he’s memorizing her shape.
Yuma stands, helping Aura to her feet. He doesn’t let go of her hand until he absolutely has to.
“Come back,” he says, kissing her hand.
She squeezes once. “You better still be alive.”
“Rude,” he mutters. “But fair.”
She smiles — then turns, joining her court.
The fae vanish into the forest, Willow in their midst. The wolves watch until they’re gone.
Euijoo exhales. “Alright.” He looks to the treeline — to the other pack waiting beyond the border. “Let’s get backup.”
Yuma watches the space where Aura disappeared. Hope burns in his chest. This war isn’t over. Not even close.
©inkedbysonny
What Belongs To The Deep
✐ᝰ word count: 10k ✐ᝰ genre: fantasy, romance, angst, slowish burn, action, werewolf!harua, dryad!oc, mythic war, nature magic, mate bond ✐ᝰ warnings: graphic violence, blood and severe injury, war themes, kidnapping and captivity, torture (off-page but referenced), emotional distress, mate bond pain, manipulation, power imbalance, psychological cruelty, threats of death, strong language ✐ᝰ author’s note: happy new year my loves! we start off with harua's arc !! again i wanted to take a different direction and im sorry this ended in a cliffhanger but i promise it was very much needed AND gets better in the next arc. euijoo's and k's arcs were very intense so i dialed it down and made it more loving here but there's a war people!! it can't be all happy. and as always this arc can be read as a standalone, but it sits right at the turning point of the larger war, and things only get darker from here. thank you so much for reading — scream, cry, and theorise freely. the hunt begins next. ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ links to other parts of the veilbourne saga: part 1 (jo) | part 2 (nicholas) | part 3 (k) | part 4 (euijoo) | part 6 (yuma) | part 7 (taki) | part 8 (maki) | part 9 (fuma)
Harua arrives prepared. Painfully prepared.
The bag slung over his shoulder is heavy with purpose — moon-bound manuscripts, ancient healing texts copied and re-copied until the ink bled through the pages, scrolls wrapped carefully in cloth, pens carved from bone and crystal, spare clothes folded tight. Everything he might need. Everything he should need.
He has memorised three different lunar healing rites on the walk here alone. He tells himself this is good. That discipline will save lives. That if he learns enough, fast enough, nothing like what happened to Euijoo will ever happen again.
I will be ready this time.
The forest opens for him without resistance. Waterfalls murmur somewhere nearby, their sound soft and constant, like breath. The air smells damp and green and old — not rot, but renewal. Moss clings to stone. Sunlight filters through leaves in long, fractured ribbons. The place feels… kind.
Not welcoming. Not hostile. Aware.
Harua exhales slowly, shoulders easing despite himself. “This is it,” he murmurs, adjusting the strap of his bag. “This is where she said.”
He steps deeper into the trees.
That’s when he smells blood.
It hits him sharp and immediate — iron and panic, fresh enough to make his hackles rise. His hand moves on instinct, magic already gathering under his skin as he breaks into a run, boots skidding over damp roots.
“Hey—” he starts, then stops.
She’s kneeling in a clearing.
A deer lies on its side before her, flank torn open by a gunshot, blood dark against its hide. The animal trembles, breath shallow, eyes wide with pain.
The dryad is hunched over it, hair falling forward like a curtain of leaves and bark-toned silk. Her hands glow faintly — not bright, not blinding — but warm, earthen, threaded with something ancient. She murmurs as she works, her voice low and layered, like several tones overlapping.
Harua doesn’t recognise the language. He recognises the weight of it.
The blood slows. Stops. Then — impossibly — it recedes.
Flesh knits together beneath her palms, muscle and skin reforming as if time itself is being gently coaxed backward. The wound closes. The deer’s breathing steadies.
A heartbeat passes.
Then another.
The animal jolts upright with a startled snort, shakes itself once, twice — and bolts, hooves thundering away into the trees, whole and unbroken.
Silence rushes in to fill the space it leaves behind. Harua realises distantly that his mouth is open.
“That—” His voice catches. He swallows. “That was—”
The dryad straightens slowly.
When she turns to face him, the world tilts.
She is— beautiful, yes, but not in the way Harua expects. Not polished or soft. There is something wild in the set of her features, something patient and unyielding. Her eyes are deep and dark, reflecting green and gold depending on how the light hits them. Leaves are threaded through her hair like they belong there. Bits of bark cling to her clothes as if they’ve grown into them.
The mate bond hits him like a punch to the chest.
Warm. Immediate. Overwhelming.
His magic flares in response, bright and aching, his heart stumbling over itself as something ancient inside him recognises her.
Oh.
Oh.
For a breathless moment, he forgets everything else — the war, the fear, the weight he’s been carrying. All he can think is: There you are.
Her gaze flicks over him — the bag, the tense posture, the barely-contained magic humming under his skin.
Then she tilts her head. “…You’re loud,” she says mildly.
Harua blinks. “I— sorry?”
She gestures vaguely at his chest. “Your bones are shouting.”
He freezes.
…What?
And just like that, the awe fractures — not gone, but edged with something unfamiliar. Something unsettling.
The forest hums softly around them, waterfalls whispering in the distance.
Harua tightens his grip on the strap of his bag, heart still racing, hope tangled now with confusion and a flicker of dread he can’t quite name.
Harua shakes himself. Focus. This is fine. He is fine.
He runs through the options in his head, rapid-fire and panicked:
— Tell her she’s my mate? No. Too much. Wolves wait for the right moment. There are rules. Sacred ones.
— Tell her Nova sent me? Safer. Professional. Establishes credibility.
— Introduce myself? Yes. Polite. Normal. He can do normal.
— Ask about the spell? Oh gods, he needs to ask about the spell. The structure, the resonance, the way the flesh reknit without backlash—
His brain trips over itself.
Before he can stop it, the words come out in a single, catastrophic rush.
“What kind of spell makes you want to mate?”
Silence.
Harua slaps a hand over his mouth.
Mortified.
“I— I’m so sorry,” he blurts, muffled. “That was— I didn’t mean— I can start over, I swear, I just—”
The dryad does not look at him. Not even a little.
She turns away, already moving toward a nearby stream, fingers brushing the bark of a tree as she passes. The leaves rustle in response, almost… conversationally.
“Mm,” she hums, distracted. “You’re vibrating.”
Harua lowers his hand slowly. “I— I am?”
She reaches into a hollowed stump and pulls out a folded cloth — once white, now stained green and slick with moisture.
Without warning, she tosses it over her shoulder. It smacks Harua square in the chest. “Go wipe the algae off the crystals,” she says, tone casual, final. “They can’t breathe.”
Harua stares down at the towel. Then at her. Then around the clearing. “…The— crystals?” he repeats.
She’s already kneeling again, this time by the stream, murmuring softly as she dips her hands into the water. The surface ripples unnaturally, light refracting in slow, deliberate patterns.
“The ones by the waterfall,” she adds absently. “Not the singing ones. They’re sulking.”
Harua opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “…I’m sorry,” he says carefully. “I thought— I mean, I brought books. And texts. And—”
She glances back at him then, finally. Her gaze is sharp, curious, entirely unbothered. “Oh,” she says. “That’s unfortunate.”
Harua’s stomach drops. “Unfortunate?”
“Yes,” she replies pleasantly, already turning back to the stream. “Unfortunate.”
The forest hums louder.
Harua stands there, towel in hand, mate bond buzzing insistently under his skin, surrounded by whispering trees and apparently sentient crystals—
—and with dawning horror, he mutters, “What the fuck.”
“What the fuck,” Harua repeats faintly.
The day does not end. It stretches. And stretches. And stretches some more, like the forest itself has decided time is optional now that he’s here.
By midday—he thinks it’s midday, though the sun hasn’t moved in a way that makes sense—Harua has polished exactly seventeen crystals. He knows this because he has counted them three times. Not because the task requires it, but because counting is the only thing tethering him to reality.
They are arranged in clusters near the waterfall, half-buried in moss and algae, humming softly under his touch. Some glow when cleaned. Some pulse. One of them sighs.
Every time he scrubs too hard, a pebble smacks square him in the shoulder. Not thrown. Flicked. From the damn dryad, with an accuracy Harua wished he had.
“Wrong one,” the dryad says, not looking up. Harua winces. “I— I was just—”
Thunk. Another pebble. This one clips his ear.
“That’s Jasper,” she continues calmly. “You’re bruising his feelings.”
Harua stares at the crystal in his hands. “…Jasper.”
“Yes.”
“And—” He gestures helplessly at the cluster beside it. “Those?”
She tilts her head, listening to something only she can hear. “Oh, they’re arguing again,” she says. Then, in a completely different voice—higher, petulant—“Tell him I’m not translucent, I’m luminous.”
Harua freezes. “…Was that—”
“Yes,” she says, switching back without pause. “That was Citrine. She’s sensitive.” A third voice, gravelly and low, rumbles out of her throat: “He smells like wet paper.”
Harua’s eye twitches.
“—And that,” the dryad adds pleasantly, “is Obsidian. Ignore him. He’s dramatic.”
Harua opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “…What the fuck,” he whispers, for what feels like the ninth time today.
At some point—he’s not sure when—she wanders over to his bag. His bag. His carefully curated stack of moon texts, ancient scripts, annotated margins, painstaking diagrams— She pokes at them with a tree branch.
Harua sees red. Lunar red. Old red.
“Please don’t—” he starts, taking a step forward.
The air shifts. The forest listens. The dryad pauses.
Then, without looking at him, she says, “Unicorn horn ferments faster under ironwood bark. If you steep silverleaf for exactly seven breaths—not eight, seven—and add marrow resin after the heat dies, you’ll get accelerated tissue regeneration without cellular tearing.”
Harua stops dead. “…What.”
She keeps poking the books. “Add too early and it rejects the host. Add too late and it rots from the inside out.”
His heart slams into his ribs. “That—that’s—” He fumbles for his pen, already flipping pages. “That’s a war-grade healing draught—”
Thunk.
A pebble hits his knuckles. Hard.
“No paper,” she snaps, suddenly sharp. Harua yelps, dropping the pen. “…No paper?”
She turns slowly, eyes bright. Dangerous now. “Paper is trees,” she says flatly. “You don’t bleed on your ancestors.”
He swallows. “…Banana leaves?” he tries weakly.
She nods, satisfied. “Good. You listen.”
Hands shaking, Harua transfers his notes, carefully, reverently, onto broad green leaves. His handwriting is terrible. He does not care. This potion—this formula—could change everything.
Finally, he gathers the courage. “…What is the potion for?” he asks.
She blinks at him. “Didn’t I say?”
“No.”
“Oh.” She shrugs. “Fast healing after combat.”
Harua exhales sharply, relief and confusion tangling. “But— wolves already regenerate quickly. And if we’re not in combat right now, then why—”
The ground disappears. Something massive collides with his side. The world flips.
Harua hits the earth with a bone-jarring thud, breath punched clean out of him. He rolls once, twice—then stops, staring up at the canopy in stunned silence.
Hooves stamp inches from his head. A unicorn snorts. It lowers its horn, glittering and sharp, eyes wild. The dryad sighs, “Well, you didn’t think a unicorn horn would drop out of the sky, did you?”
“I didn’t think a unicorn would ram into me in the first place!” He wheezes, clutching his ribs, dirt in his hair, potion notes crumpled in banana leaves, mate bond screaming under his skin, and thinks—
Gods help me. I think I’ve fallen in love with a lunatic.
“Get the horn.”
“What?”
“You need it for the potion.” The dryad responded simply. “You’re hurt.”
“Well, only because you got a unicorn to run me over!”
She shrugged, “The only way a unicorn lets you take even a sliver of its horn is through combat. And don’t you want to have these potions in hand?”
“You want me to fight a unicorn?”
Harua laughs. It slips out of him sharp and breathless, halfway to hysteria.
“No,” he says, shaking his head. “No, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
The unicorn paws the ground. Its horn glints.
“I’m here to learn,” Harua insists, gesturing wildly between himself and the dryad. “Healing. That’s— that’s my focus. That’s why Nova sent me? Your friend? The warlock? I already know how to fight. My pack spars every day. We—”
He stops himself, breath hitching. Tries again, calmer. Reasonable. “I don’t need to fight a unicorn.”
The dryad hums, still stroking the bark of the tree beside her like it’s a pet. “You do if you want the horn.”
“I don’t want the horn,” Harua snaps. “You’re the one who said—”
“You need it,” the dryad interrupts mildly. “There’s a difference.”
“You know what, let me talk to the damn unicorn.” Harua drags a hand down his face before stopping himself in realisation, “Can unicorns even understand what you’re saying?”
She glances at him, offended. “Of course they can.”
“No offence, but you think crystals talk.”
She scoffs. “They do, and they would whoop your ass if they heard you.”
Harua opens his mouth. Closes it. “…I don’t know why I even try to reason with you.”
“That’s unfortunate,” she says serenely.
He turns back to the unicorn, hands raised. “Listen— I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m not trying to hurt you. I just— need a piece of your horn. A sliver. We can negotiate. I have offerings. Moon-blessed herbs. Salt. Blood, if you—”
The unicorn snorts. Then it charges.
“—FUCK!”
Harua barely has time to throw himself sideways before the ground explodes where he’d been standing. Dirt and roots fly. The unicorn skids, hooves tearing trenches through the forest floor, already pivoting for another pass.
“What the fuck?” Harua gasps, scrambling to his feet. “Aren’t unicorns supposed to be docile?”
“They are,” the dryad calls back cheerfully. “To people they like.”
“Oh, that’s great.”
The unicorn screams—high and furious—and barrels toward him again.
Harua doesn’t think. He reacts.
Bone snaps. Muscle tears and rebuilds. His spine arches as shadow spills across the clearing, black fur swallowing his skin, his human form folding inward until there’s only the wolf—massive, jet-black, a living absence against the bright forest floor. He hits the ground on all fours with a snarl that shakes leaves loose from the trees.
The unicorn skids to a halt.
For a heartbeat, they size each other up.
Then the unicorn lunges. Harua meets it head-on.
They collide in a violent blur—horn grazing his shoulder, ripping fur and flesh alike. Pain flares white-hot. He retaliates instinctively, jaws snapping shut around the unicorn’s neck, only to be thrown off by a powerful buck that sends him crashing through undergrowth.
“Too slow,” the dryad comments lazily.
Harua rolls, comes up snarling, blood dripping down his flank. He circles, low and lethal, every sense screaming. The unicorn pivots with him, hooves striking sparks against stone. “You’re telegraphing your feints,” she adds, plucking a petal from a nearby flower. “And you favour your left.”
The unicorn charges again.
Harua times it better this time—leaps aside at the last second, claws raking along the unicorn’s ribs. The creature shrieks, rearing up, horn slicing the air inches from Harua’s throat. “Good,” the dryad says. “Better angle.” She pulls another petal free.
Harua lunges, teeth sinking into muscle, pain and fury blurring together. The unicorn fights back viciously, hooves slamming into his ribs, sending him skidding across the clearing. His regeneration struggles to keep up. The horn nicks him again—shallow, but burning.
“You’re panicking,” the dryad notes. “Breathe.”
Harua snarls, teeth bared, blood slicking his fur. He plants his paws, forces air into his lungs, grounds himself the way his pack taught him.
Again.
He moves differently this time—calculated, deliberate. He feints right, cuts left, snaps at the horn instead of the body. The unicorn stumbles. “There,” she murmurs. “That’s it.”
Harua lunges.
His jaws clamp down—not enough to shatter, not enough to maim—but enough.
The unicorn screams, rearing back, and when it finally tears free, a thin shard of horn clatters onto the forest floor, still glowing faintly.
The unicorn backs away, sides heaving, eyes locked on Harua.
Harua collapses onto the ground, shifting back with a painful shudder, human once more, chest heaving, blood seeping through torn clothes. His ears ring. Every muscle screams.
The dryad strolls over, petals scattered at her feet.
She nudges the horn shard with her toe. “Passable,” she decides. Then, after a beat, “But you rely too much on instinct. Healing requires restraint. Don’t you think so, Madame Vealy?”
Harua stares up at the canopy, dirt in his mouth, heart still racing out of his chest. “Who the fuck is Madame Vealy?”
The unicorn neighs, “He’ll learn eventually.”
“You SPEAK?”
“I told you she did!” Willow says, indignant.
“I don’t think the wolf believes you, Willow.” Madame Vealy grunts, helping Harua up with her snout.
Willow.
Half the day gone, nearly trampled, mildly concussed—and only now does he learn his mate’s name.
“Well,” Willow says, dusting her hands together, “he has to trust me eventually if he wants to learn anything.” She turns to him then, really looks at him, and finally smiles.
“Good job,” she says. “Now get up.”
Harua drops to one knee, then both. His shift back comes with a violent shudder, bones popping, skin tearing, breath ripping from his lungs. He tastes blood. His ribs scream when he moves. He blinks up at her, dazed. She thinks that was a good job?
Something warm flickers in his chest — pride, maybe. Or the bond tightening, pleased. Gods, she’s beautiful like this: wild hair tangled with leaves, dirt on her knees, power humming just under her skin. She’d be a terrifyingly good mate, a traitorous part of him thinks.
Then she shoves a mortar into his hands. “Grind.”
He stares at it. Inside is a fistful of dark, veined mushrooms. They pulse faintly, like breathing things. “I’m— sorry?” he croaks.
“Dwarvesville caps,” Willow says, already turning away. “Use the stone. Slow. If you rush, they’ll spoil.”
“My ribs are—”
“Cracked,” she finishes for him. “Yes. Sit upright.”
“I can’t—”
She slaps his stomach. Hard. Air leaves him in a sharp, humiliating wheeze.
“Sit. Upright,” Willow repeats, tone flat. “You fold when you hurt. That traps the damage.”
Harua grits his teeth and straightens, trembling. Pain lances through his side. His vision spots.
Okay, he thinks wildly. Okay. She’s— intense. But she knows what she’s doing. Clearly. He starts grinding.
The mushrooms resist at first, fibrous and wet, then slowly break down into a thick, dark paste. As he works, he watches her — the way she moves, confident and precise, murmuring to the stream, fingers brushing bark like she’s checking a pulse. It’s… incredible. This is real healing, he thinks. Ancient. Powerful.
Then the paste is gone from his hands — and suddenly it’s being pressed against his ribs.
Harua yelps.
The pain isn’t sharp. It crawls. Sinks into him like roots threading through muscle.
“Oh gods—!”
“Breathe,” Willow says, annoyed. “You’re fighting it.”
“Because it feels like it’s eating me!”
“It is,” she replies calmly. “Only the dead parts.”
His stomach flips. That’s not reassuring.
She wraps him in bandages next — tight, methodical, no gentleness to it. Each pull corrects his posture, forces his shoulders back, keeps him upright despite the shaking in his arms. Her hands are warm. Sure. Confident. He hates how much he leans into it. “There,” she says, finally stepping back. “Now move.”
Harua stares at her. “…Move?”
She points toward the treeline. “Those roots are choking the waterway. Pull them out.”
“I can barely stand.”
“Good,” Willow says. “Then you’ll learn to work through it.”
He laughs once, disbelieving. “This is— this can’t possibly be necessary. Like right now?”
She tilts her head, studying him. “I thought Nova said you wanted to protect your pack mates.”
“Yes,” he says desperately. “Not— not manual labour while injured!”
She shrugs. “In war, you don’t stop because you hurt.”
Harua hesitates. The doubt creeps in then, slow and cold. Is this teaching? Or is she just cruel?
But the image of K bleeding out flashes in his mind. Of Euijoo unconscious. Of the pack looking to him — always to him. So he nods. And he does it.
He pulls roots with shaking hands. He clears stones. He stumbles and corrects himself because she doesn’t help when he falls — only watches, eyes sharp, waiting to see what he’ll do.
By the time the sun finally shifts into something resembling evening, Harua is exhausted, bandaged, aching in ways that feel… different. Less raw. More aware.
Willow watches him from the stream. “Still here,” she observes.
Harua wipes sweat from his brow, breath unsteady. “I’m starting to think,” he says carefully, “that you enjoy this.”
She smiles. Not cruel. Not kind.
“Still thinking,” she replies. “Good.” The bond hums again — warm, unsettling, insistent.
Harua looks at her, torn between awe and alarm, and thinks: She’s brilliant. She’s dangerous. And I’m not sure if staying is the best decision I’ve ever made… or the worst.
Harua doesn’t remember falling asleep.
One moment he was sitting upright against a tree, ribs burning, jaw clenched through pain and humiliation and why am I still here — The next, he wakes to voices. Multiple. Soft. Distinct. Arguing.
“…no, he pulls like a bear cub,” one voice complains, reedy and thin. “He means well,” another hums, low and mossy. “Still stepped on my roots,” a third snaps.
Harua’s eyes snap open.
He’s on the forest floor, wrapped in bandages that smell faintly of resin and crushed leaves. Sunlight filters through the canopy in fractured beams. His head throbs — not with pain, but with the lingering fuzz of deep, unnatural sleep.
And there she is.
Willow stands barefoot among the trees, one hand pressed flat to a trunk, her head tilted as if listening.
“No, no,” she murmurs, switching tones mid-sentence. “I told you, the wolf tries. He just panics.”
She answers a different tree in a different voice entirely. “Patience. I’ll move him when he’s ready.”
Oh. She’s actually insane, he thinks dimly.
The longer he lies there listening, the worse it gets. Each tree has a voice. A temperament. Some complain about the weather. One asks after the deer. Another grumbles about Harua’s scent. He shuts his eyes. Nope. Nope. I’m done.
His thoughts snap into angry clarity.
The labour. The silence. The way she never answers questions directly. The fact that he doesn’t even know the name of the paste he made — where is the banana leaf with his notes??
He’s cleaned her forest. Bled in it. Fought a unicorn in it. And the war is already here.
What the hell am I doing?
His pack is relying on him. On knowledge, not riddles. On preparation, not… whatever this is.
Fine, he thinks. Good. I’ll demand answers and leave.
He straightens his shoulders, squares his stance — healer or not, he is still a wolf — and starts toward Willow, rehearsing the speech in his head.
Be firm. Don’t look at her. Don’t let her derail you.
“I came here to learn,” he plans to say. “I don’t have time for this.” “My pack needs me.” He’s three steps away when Willow speaks, without turning around.
“All healed, aren’t we?”
Harua stops short. “…Excuse me?”
She finally looks over her shoulder, eyes bright, knowing. “You slept through the worst of it,” she adds lightly. “Lucky.”
His mouth opens. Closes. Slowly, he looks down at himself — at the bandages, now clean and dry, at his hands that don’t shake, at a body that feels… whole.
“You—” His voice comes out rough. “Okay, but you still didn’t teach me.”
She hums. “You healed yourself.”
“I— no, I didn’t,” he snaps, frustration bleeding through. “You made the paste. You wrapped me up. You— you didn’t even tell me what it was called!”
Willow turns fully now, leaning back against the tree. “You ground it,” she says calmly. “You applied pressure. You stayed upright. You worked through the pain without reopening the damage. You slept when your body needed to finish.” She cocks her head. “What part of that wasn’t teaching?”
Harua stares at her. The forest hums. “…That’s not teaching,” he says weakly. His jaw tightens. “And you know, people are dying.”
“So they are,” Willow agrees.
“And you’re— talking to trees.”
“Yes.”
“And making me clean crystals and fight unicorns!”
“Also yes.”
He exhales sharply, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “This is insane.”
She watches him quietly for a moment. Then she steps closer.
“Tell me, Harua,” Willow says, voice gentle now. “When your pack bleeds, do they have time to scrummage through your thick notebooks? Would you have the capacity to carry all your books onto the field? Or do they have time for what their hands remember?”
The words hit harder than any pebble she’s thrown at him. He looks down at his palms. At the faint green stains that won’t wash out.
“Don’t you think the reason why you’re at your skill level is because you rely so much on the ancient texts? What about hands-on work?” She glided closer to him, “You cannot predict what happens in wars, you work with what you have on field.”
Harsh. Felt like a slap in the face.
Harua swallows. His throat feels tight, suddenly. Embarrassingly so.
“I’m not—” he starts, then stops. The words don’t come out right. He exhales, slow, controlled. “I’m not useless without them.”
“I didn’t say you were,” Willow replies gently.
That almost makes it worse.
She reaches out — not to him, but to one of the bandages on his chest.
Fingers brush the edge, testing the tension, the knot. Her touch is careful. Evaluating.
“You’re afraid,” she says simply.
Harua stiffens. “I’m responsible.”
“Yes.” She meets his eyes.
The forest quiets. Even the trees seem to lean in. Harua looks away first.
“I was the healer before the war. I still am now,” he admits, voice low. “Before the Leviathians. Before things started tearing bodies apart faster than regeneration could keep up.” His jaw clenches. “I couldn’t heal K fast enough. I almost lost my Alpha.”
Willow doesn’t interrupt.
“I only study because I have to,” he continues. “Because if I don’t know everything, then when someone dies—” His voice falters. He hates that it does. “—it’ll be my fault.”
Silence stretches. Willow’s hand leaves his chest. When she speaks again, her voice is softer — but no less certain. “Books don’t save lives,” she says. “You do.”
He flinches.
“You don’t need more knowledge,” she goes on. “You need trust. In your hands. In your instincts. In the mess.” She steps back, gesturing to the forest around them. “Battlefields aren’t libraries. They’re mud and blood and screaming. You won’t have time to remember page numbers.”
Harua looks down at his hands again.
At the stains. At the faint scars already fading. “…I didn’t even realise I was healing,” he murmurs.
Willow smiles — not sharp, not teasing. Proud. “That’s because you stopped thinking and started listening.”
“To you?”
She shakes her head. “To yourself.”
The mate bond hums — warm, approving, terrifyingly intimate. Harua exhales a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “…So what now?” he asks quietly.
Willow turns back toward the trees, already walking. “Now,” she says, “you learn names.”
His heart sinks. “Of more crystals?”
“No,” she replies over her shoulder. “Of the pain. Of the fear. Of the mistakes you’ll make and survive.” She pauses, glancing back at him with a glint of something unreadable. “And tomorrow,” she adds, “I’ll tell you what the paste was called.”
By the fourth day, Harua stops counting bruises.
Not because they stop appearing — they don’t — but because his body begins to file them away like notes he doesn’t need to write down anymore.
Wake. Work. Bleed a little. Learn something he won’t realise he’s learned until later. It becomes routine.
He’s quizzed while knee-deep in river water, scrubbing algae off pearlescent stones slick with spray. “Name,” Willow calls, voice floating over the rush of the waterfall.
“Calcite,” he answers automatically.
A pebble whistles past his ear.
“…Calcite vein,” he corrects.
No pebble.
He pulls weeds until his fingers cramp, distinguishing medicinal roots from invasive ones by scent alone. He counts crystals until the numbers blur, then starts again because Willow — sorry, Obsidian insists he skipped three. He brushes Madame Vealy’s mane while the unicorn critiques his grip and threatens to bite him if he tugs.
He learns not to argue.
He learns faster.
The unethical part sneaks up on him — the way Willow lets him get hurt just enough to demonstrate a point. The way she never stops him in time, only after. The way pain becomes a variable, not a mistake.
“Again,” she says calmly as he winces through resetting a dislocated finger. “You hesitated.”
“I was trying not to break it!”
“Yes,” Willow replies. “That’s why it broke.”
He doesn’t know when he starts accepting this logic. Sometime between the third algae scrub and the fifth forced meditation under freezing water, it just… settles.
Today is like the others.
He sheds his shirt without thinking, muscles aching pleasantly now instead of screaming, and wades into the river. Cold bites hard, but his breath barely stutters. He bends, hands moving confidently over the stones, scraping green slick away until they glow pale and clean beneath the water.
That’s when he feels it. Not danger.
Attention.
He glances up.
Willow stands on the bank, arms folded loosely, pretending very hard to be interested in a fern. Her gaze flicks away a fraction too late. Harua blinks.
…Did she just—
He ducks back under the water, scrubs faster. Focus. Don’t be ridiculous. She stares into the sun and argues with rocks. This means nothing.
When he surfaces again, pushing wet hair back from his face, he feels it again.
This time, he doesn’t look immediately. He finishes the stone. Sets his palm against it. Grounds himself the way she taught him. Then he lifts his head.
Willow is watching him openly now. Not assessing. Not teaching.
Watching.
Something warm curls low in his stomach. The mate bond hums — not sharp, not demanding. Curious. Pleased.
Her gaze lingers on the line of his shoulders, the scars beginning to fade under her work. She notices the way he moves now — sure, efficient, unafraid of the river’s pull.
When their eyes meet, she doesn’t look away. She tilts her head instead. Smiles faintly. “Your posture’s improved,” she says.
Harua snorts. “That’s what you’re calling it?”
“Yes.”
“…You were staring.”
“Mm.”
He waits for an explanation.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, she turns and walks back toward the forest. “Dry off,” she calls over her shoulder. “You’ll cramp if you stay in too long.”
He stands there for a moment, water dripping from his skin, heart doing something unfamiliar and treacherous. By the time he steps out of the river, Willow is already gone — but the air feels different. Charged. Like something has shifted without either of them naming it.
Harua grabs his shirt, tugging it back on with a frown. “…This is bad,” he mutters to himself. Somewhere nearby, a crystal hums in agreement. And the mate bond, traitorous and warm, hums louder still.
That night, the forest goes quiet in a way that feels deliberate.
The fire crackles low in the hearth, light spilling amber over stone walls and hanging bundles of drying herbs. Harua sits cross-legged on the floor, bowl warming his palms. Steam curls upward, rich and unfamiliar — something hearty, root-heavy, meant to rebuild blood and bone.
He doesn’t eat.
Instead, he watches Willow.
She moves around the space like she belongs to it in a way he never will — unhurried, barefoot, hair loose down her back. Firelight softens the sharp lines of her face, catches in her lashes. There’s dirt beneath her nails. Resin smudged on her wrist. A faint scar at her temple he hadn’t noticed before.
…Yeah. That tracks.
The realisation lands without drama. Of course his mate wouldn’t be a wolf.
Euijoo’s — the alpha, strongest of them all —bonded to a warlock who reeks like power and old ink. Jo fell for a siren who nearly drowned him the first time they argued. Nicholas — idiotic, narrow-minded Nicholas — chose a human who knows everything about the supernatural and nothing about him.
A dryad healer who talks to trees and throws rocks at his head? Barely cracks the top five weirdest.
And yet.
His chest doesn’t hurt.
No sharp pull. No breathless ache. No sudden knowing the way his pack mates described — the way they’d clutched at their sternums like something had hooked inside and yanked.
He frowns into his untouched food. Maybe I missed it, he thinks. Maybe it happened when she knocked him unconscious with a tree branch. Or when the unicorn tried to gore him. Or sometime between the third dislocation and the fifth lesson disguised as cruelty.
Or maybe—
“Is it bad?” Willow asks suddenly.
Harua startles. “What?”
“The food,” she clarifies, nodding at his bowl. “You usually inhale it like you’re afraid it’ll escape.”
He looks down. Realises he hasn’t taken a single bite. “Oh. No— it’s fine. It smells good,” he says quickly. Too quickly. His ears burn. “…I just got distracted.”
She arches a brow, amused. “By?”
He looks up.
She’s already watching him.
Heat crawls up his neck. “Sorry,” he blurts. “I wasn’t— I mean, I didn’t mean to stare.”
“You were,” she says mildly.
“…Yes.”
A beat.
Then, before he can stop himself — before instinct, pride, or fear can intervene — the question slips out. “What do you know about the wolf mate bond?”
The fire pops sharply. Willow stills.
She doesn’t look shocked. Or confused. Just… thoughtful. As if she’s been waiting for this, in her own way.
“That depends,” she says slowly. “On what you think it’s supposed to feel like.”
Harua swallows. “Everyone says it hurts. At first. Like something pulling your chest open.”
Willow studies him across the firelight, gaze steady and unflinching.
“Wolves experience the bond through instinct,” she says. “Through urgency. Through the body.”
“And dryads?”
She smiles faintly. “Through time.”
That doesn’t help.
“You trying to tell me something?” Willow crosses her legs and looks at him expectantly.
Oh gods, does she know?
“I'm just saying that I haven’t felt that,” he admits. His fingers curl around the bowl. “Not once. Even when I realised. Even when I—” He stops himself. Exhales. “So I guess... either I’m wrong. Or something’s different.”
Willow studies him across the firelight, gaze steady and unflinching.
Nah, she doesn’t know.
“Do you think it’s different because it’s me?”
CURSE THE MOON. SHE KNOWS.
Silence stretches.
The fire crackles. Sap pops in the logs like something alive shifting.
Harua doesn’t answer right away.
“Do you not like this bond?”
She tilts her head, studying him the way she studies plants she hasn’t decided are weeds yet — with interest, not judgment. Then she reaches forward and nudges his bowl an inch closer.
“Eat,” she says, gently insistent.
Harua doesn’t move. His heart is doing something strange now — not pain, not pulling, but a slow, deliberate thrum. Like something knocking from the inside.
“That wasn’t an answer,” he says.
“No,” she agrees. “It wasn’t.”
Her gaze flicks briefly to the hearth, then back to him. “You wolves want certainty. Labels. Bonds you can point to and say this is mine.”
“That’s not—”
“It is,” she cuts in, not unkindly. “And it isn’t wrong. But you’re asking the wrong question.”
Harua clenches his jaw. “What’s the right question?”
Willow smiles. Not teasing this time. Something older. “Ask yourself,” she says softly, “why you’re still here. Whether you like this bond.”
The words hit harder than expected.
“You could’ve left after the unicorn,” she continues. “After the pain. After the work. After you decided I was mad.”
“I still think you’re mad,” he mutters.
She hums. “Yet you stay. You listen. You learn, even when you hate the method.”
He opens his mouth to argue — and stops. Because he doesn’t have a good answer.
Willow leans back, bracing her hands behind her. Firelight dances across her skin. “The bond doesn’t always arrive as hunger or hurt,” she says. “Sometimes it arrives as tolerance. As curiosity. As the choice to remain.”
Harua swallows. “That’s not how it works,” he says, but his voice lacks conviction.
“Maybe that’s just not how wolves are taught,” she corrects. “Dryads don’t claim. We root. Slowly. Quietly. We grow around what chooses to stay.”
She meets his eyes again.
“If the bond blooms,” she says, “you’ll feel it. In your own way. And so will I.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Willow’s smile is small. Honest. “Then you’ll still leave here a better healer than when you arrived.”
The answer should calm him. Instead, something deep under his skin hums — low, pleased, unsettling.
He finally lifts the spoon. Takes a bite. The warmth spreads through him, steady and grounding.
Willow watches him over the rim of her own bowl, expression unreadable.
And somewhere in the quiet, patient dark of the forest, roots shift.
Harua wakes before the forest does.
No ache in his chest. No sharp pull beneath his ribs. Just… clarity. His body feels lighter, aligned, like something finally stopped resisting. He slips out from the blankets at first light and doesn’t hesitate.
Weeds first — the bitter-root kind that strangle younger growth if left alone. Then herbs, careful not to bruise the stems. He washes the crystals one by one, murmuring their names under his breath so he doesn’t forget. Jasper hums. Citrine glows faintly, pleased. Obsidian stays grumpy.
He thinks he may have gone insane because he’s now going along with the personalities Willow curated for the crystals.
By the time the sun breaks fully through the canopy, Harua is waist-deep in the river, shirt discarded on the stones, fingers scrubbing algae from the pearly rocks until they shine. Routine. Muscle memory. Purpose.
He feels it before he sees her.
That subtle prickle between his shoulder blades.
Harua glances up.
Willow stands on the riverbank, arms crossed loosely, expression unreadable.
Watching.
This time, he doesn’t look away. He smirks.
Her brow arches — just slightly — and she turns away like she wasn’t staring at all. A moment later she steps into the water, lifting the hem of her leafy dress so it doesn’t soak, bare calves catching the light.
“You’re early,” she notes.
“Didn’t want the crystals to feel neglected,” he says lightly, nudging one with his knee. “They gossip.”
A pause.
“…They do,” Willow admits, suspicious.
Harua grins.
She joins him at the shallower edge, hands submerged, rinsing roots she must’ve gathered at dawn. For a while they work in companionable silence — water rushing, birds waking, the forest breathing around them.
Then the thought settles in his mind. Not reckless. Considered.
He straightens, wiping water from his forearms. “Willow?”
“Yes?”
“Do you know how to use a crossbow?”
She stills. Slowly, she looks up at him. “Why,” she asks carefully, “would a healer need a crossbow?”
Harua shrugs, casual as anything. “Because some lessons are easier learned when the teacher isn’t the only one teaching.”
Her eyes narrow. Assessing. Curious.
“And you think you should teach me?” she says.
He meets her gaze evenly. No challenge. No bravado. Just quiet certainty. “You taught me to heal without books,” he replies. “Seems fair I return the favour.”
The river rushes between them.
Then Willow smiles — sharp, delighted, dangerous.
In a matter of a few minutes, the crossbow rests easily in his hands like an extension of himself — sleek, matte black, its limbs carved from polished dragon bone that catches the light with an oil-slick sheen. It hums faintly when he moves, old magic threaded through craftsmanship and care.
Willow eyes it warily. “It looks like it might bite me.”
“It won’t,” Harua says, automatically. Then, after a beat, “…Unless you disrespect it.”
She snorts, but takes it anyway. Clumsily.
The arrow slips off-centre the moment she draws back. The string twangs uselessly, the bolt dropping into the shallows with a soft splash. She scowls at it. “Rude.”
Harua bites back a smile. “Your grip’s wrong.”
“So is its attitude.”
“Here,” he says, stepping closer. “Let me—”
He stops short of touching her. Hesitates. Then reminds himself this is teaching. Just teaching.
He moves behind her. One hand settles carefully at her waist — not pulling, just anchoring — while the other lifts her elbow, guiding it higher, steadier. He adjusts her fingers on the stock, presses lightly at her shoulder.
“There,” he murmurs, focused. “You’re fighting it. Let it rest against you instead.”
Willow freezes.
Not pulling away. Just… very aware. Harua keeps talking, oblivious. “You don’t aim with your eyes first. You aim with your body. Feel where the weight settles. If it’s balanced, the shot follows.”
Her breath catches. Just slightly. He doesn’t notice.
“Now— don’t yank the string,” he continues. “Draw it back slow. Like this.”
His chest brushes her back when he leans in to correct the angle. His voice drops, instinctively quieter, like the forest itself is listening.
Willow swallows.
Ahead of them, a crude target leans against a fallen log — wood lashed together, the center painted red with crushed flower dye. Harua had made it in haste for their impromptu lesson. Bright. Intentional. Made with care.
She exhales. Tries again. The bow steadies.
“That’s it,” Harua says softly, pride threading his voice. “Hold. Don’t think about hitting the centre Just think about letting go.”
The string releases.
The arrow flies.
It doesn’t hit the bullseye — but it thuds solidly into the outer ring, quivering. Willow blinks. Then she laughs — sharp and bright, breaking the tension like glass. “I hit it,” she says, incredulous.
Harua finally stills. Realises how close he is. How warm she feels beneath his hand. How the forest has gone very, very quiet. “…You did,” he says, just as quietly.
“Again!” She squinted at the target. “I want to hit that.”
But she tried, four more times and each arrow goes a little further from bullseye than she hoped.
Harua watches her frown, bow wobbling in her hands, the arrow skimming the edge of the flower-painted bullseye again. She keeps missing.
“Again,” he says, his voice patient. “Watch me this time.”
He lifts the bow himself, demonstrating the slow, deliberate draw, the subtle balance of weight, the fluid motion of letting the arrow fly. The string hums, the bolt thuds right into the centre. Perfect. He exhales, lowering the weapon, chest rising with a little pride.
"Your turn."
Willow blinks, biting her lip. “I… Do I just stick to throwing pebbles? I'm pretty shit at—”
“Don't think it's because you’re bad,” he says quickly. “But because you’re thinking too much. Stop overcomplicating.”
She tilts her head, but her gaze keeps straying — to the lean definition of his arms, the way his hair clings wet to his neck from the waterfall, the shadow of muscle shifting when he moves, the easy way he leans back when he sets the bow down, the faint dusting of dirt and moss on his skin from their morning labours…
“Okay,” she mutters, raising the bow again. “Now I try. Really.”
Harua beams. “Yes! That’s it—wait, hold on, repeat after me—”
She doesn’t. She doesn’t even hear him, eyes tracking him like he’s not just teaching, but glowing in the morning light. He steps closer to adjust her stance, gently patting her shoulder so she stands straighter, encouraging her to lean slightly back into him. Shirtless, sun-dappled, arms strong, chest heaving slightly from the morning’s river work.
“Focus,” he murmurs, voice low, guiding her fingers again.
Her bow drops. She exhales sharply, closes her eyes, lowering it fully. “I… can’t,” she admits, voice soft, almost breathless.
Harua drops his hands, concerned laced over his features. “Oh.. we could stop if you want. I just thought it’d be fun to teach you—“
“I think I’m just bad at this.”
Harua turns to her fully. “That’s not true,” he says immediately, like the idea offends him. “You’re just… distracted.”
She lifts a brow. “By what?”
He opens his mouth — then stops himself, heat crawling up his neck.
“…What helps you focus?” he asks instead. “Besides talking to trees and making up voices for them.”
She studies him for a moment.
Then, without a word, she crouches at the river’s edge and trails her fingers through the current. Harua watches as her shoulders ease. As her breathing slows. The water laps around her hand, clear and cool, whispering over stone. “This,” she says softly. “The water reminds me to let go.”
She closes her eyes. For a moment, the forest feels like it’s holding its breath.
When she opens them again, Harua is staring. “…Can you hear it?” she asks, glancing at him.
He hesitates, then crouches beside her, awkward, determined. He sticks his hand into the river, fingers stiff, immediately splashing more than listening.
“I— maybe?” he says, squinting. “It’s… cold?”
She snorts. “That’s not listening.”
He exhales, tries again. Stillness this time. His brows knit together in concentration. “…What’s it saying?” he asks earnestly.
Willow leans closer to the water. Harua mirrors her without thinking, shoulders brushing. “It’s saying,” she murmurs, lips twitching, “that playtime is over—”
The bow snaps up.
The string draws back smooth and sure, exactly how he taught her. The arrow points directly at his face.
Harua freezes, then immediately throws both hands up. “No— please,” he gasps dramatically. “Don’t shoot me, my dear dryad.”
Willow’s eyes go wide. She presses a hand to her chest, pretending to choke up. “I’m sorry it has to end this way,” she says solemnly. “Just know I never wanted this.”
He laughs — real, unguarded — the sound startling birds from the trees “Okay,” he says, grinning. “Okay. You win.”
She lowers the bow at last, laughter breaking through her composure. The tension dissolves into something warm, something easy.
For a brief, fragile moment, neither of them moves.
And beneath Harua’s ribs, the mate bond hums — not sharp, not painful — but steady. Certain. Like roots settling deep into soil.
He meets her eyes. Swallows. “I know you’re all about being mad and all,”
Willow tilts her head, one brow lifting in clear challenge.
“But,” he pushes on, because stopping now would be worse, “how crazy would it be if I said I really want to kiss you right now?”
The bow slips from her fingers. It hits the river with a soft splash, arrow skittering after it.
For the first time since he’s met her, Willow has no answer.
Harua’s heart lurches. He backpedals instantly. “Sorry— ignore me. That was— I don’t know why I said that.” He scrambles for the crossbow, panic setting in. “I think the bond is messing with my head and I just—”
Moon take me, he thinks wildly. Curse me. Strike me down. I deserve it. You stupid stupid dog.
Her hands catch his wrists. Firm. Grounding.
Then her mouth is on his.
Harua freezes for half a heartbeat — stunned — before instinct takes over and he melts into it, the bow forgotten as it slips from his grasp into the water again. Her kiss is warm and sure and nothing like the chaos he expected. Not frantic. Not overwhelming.
Just… right.
He exhales into her, one hand sliding to her waist, careful, asking even as he holds her. She answers by stepping closer, fingers curling into the damp fabric at his sides.
The forest hums. The mate bond doesn’t tear or ache or claw. It settles.
Oh, stars above.
Is this what it feels like?
Not pain. Not urgency. Just the dizzy, weightless sense of stepping off solid ground and realising you can fly.
Gods, he’s been missing out. Why didn’t Jo warn him? Why didn’t Euijoo say anything? Is this why K wanted Lyra back so much? Why Nicholas felt something even for a human? This is— this is—
He pulls back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against hers, a laugh breaking out of him before he can stop it.
“…I think I’m in trouble,” he admits softly.
Willow smiles — slow, knowing, entirely unafraid.
The week ends without ceremony.
No announcement. No bell rung by the forest. Just the quiet understanding that when Harua wakes, the moon will be different — angled differently, tugging him back toward the den.
He hates that he notices.
They stand in the river together beneath the night sky, water curling around their calves, silvered by moonlight. The current is gentle here, but alive — tugging, whispering, never still. Willow has rolled the hem of her dress up to her thighs, bare skin glowing faintly where the moon kisses it. Harua is shirtless again, scars half-healed, body marked by a week of labour and learning and being unmade.
“This is the last lesson,” Willow says softly.
His chest tightens. “I know.”
She doesn’t look at him. Her gaze is on the water. “In war,” she continues, “everyone waits to be told what’s happening. Messengers. Scouts. Leaders.” She crouches and trails her fingers through the river, slow and deliberate. “By the time the words reach you, they’re already old.”
Harua mirrors her without thinking, lowering himself until the water laps at his knees. “So… you listen first.”
“Yes.” She smiles faintly. “Not with your ears.” She closes her eyes. “Water speaks in movement,” Willow murmurs. “In pressure. In rhythm. It doesn’t shout. It nudges. It shows.”
She presses her palm flat to the surface. The river reacts — not dramatically, but subtly. The ripples widen. The current shifts, just a little. A school of small fish veers sharply, scattering like sparks.
“Feel that?” she asks.
Harua nods. He does. It’s faint, like the echo of a thought that isn’t his.
“Now you,” Willow says.
He hesitates. Then places his hand beside hers.
At first, there’s nothing. Just cold. Just water. His instincts itch, frustrated — the wolf in him wants to act, to do something tangible. To fight. To run.
“Don’t push,” Willow says gently. “Let it pass through you.”
He exhales. Relaxes his shoulders. Lets the river move around his hand instead of against it.
The world… tilts. It’s not hearing, exactly. Not voices. Not words. It’s pattern. The water’s pull shifts — slow, then faster, then slowing again. A warning rhythm. The fish scatter once more, this time tighter, anxious. The current carries faint impressions with it — tension, movement, absence.
Harua’s breath catches.
“They’ve pulled back,” he says slowly, eyes still closed. “The Leviathians. Not gone. Just… retreating?”
Willow’s lips part in a small, pleased smile.
“There’s unrest,” he continues, surprise bleeding into his voice. “Not here. Elsewhere. Elves talking. Quietly. And—” His brow furrows. “Warlocks. Fighting each other.”
He opens his eyes.
Willow is watching him now, something like pride softening her features. “You’re listening,” she says.
Harua laughs quietly — disbelieving, breathless. “I didn’t think I could do this.”
“You didn’t think you had time to learn,” she corrects. “You do now.”
The moon hangs heavy above them, round and watchful. The mate bond hums — not demanding, not urgent. Just there. Like the river. Like the forest.
“I don’t want to leave,” he admits suddenly.
Willow doesn’t pretend not to hear it. “I know,” she says.
Silence stretches between them — not awkward. Just full.
“You’ll come back,” she adds after a moment. Not a question. A statement.
Harua steps closer, water rippling between them. “I will.”
She reaches up, presses her forehead to his chest, right over his heart. He exhales, resting his chin against her hair.
“This war will change you,” Willow murmurs. “But you won’t go in blind anymore.”
“No,” he agrees softly. “I won’t.”
The river flows on.
And somewhere far away, the world prepares to break again.
Sleep eventually finds them without permission.
They sit by the fire long after the embers sink low, the forest hushed and listening, a single fur blanket wrapped clumsily around both their shoulders. They talk about nothing and everything — how Harua learned to braid leaves wrong three different times, how Willow once let a tree name a litter of foxes, how Madame Vealy bit a warlock clean through his cloak.
Sometimes the talking stops. Sometimes it turns into quiet laughter. Or Willow’s fingers carding gently through Harua’s hair, nails scratching behind his ears until his tail betrays him with a slow, contented thump against the stone. He pretends not to notice. She pretends not to notice him pretending.
They kiss when the moonlight spills through the doorway — soft, stolen, unhurried. No urgency. No claiming. Just warmth pressed into warmth.
Harua doesn’t remember when his head tips against her shoulder.
Or when her arm slips around his waist. Or when the fire finally dies.
But he wakes to silence.
Real silence. Not the breathing forest kind — but the kind that feels like something has already moved on. Sunlight pours through the canopy, bright and unapologetic. Harua startles upright, the blanket slipping from his shoulders. For a split second, panic flares — then fades.
She’s just out, he tells himself. Gathering mushrooms. Listening to the water upstream. Talking to the stones that hate him.
Reluctantly, he packs.
His bag is heavier than when he arrived — banana leaves layered with cramped notes, potion bottles corked and labelled in his careful script, vials of ground horn and dried fungi. Proof. Knowledge. Enough to matter.
He folds the fur blanket slowly, smoothing the creases. Leaves it neatly by the hearth.
For Willow.
A memory.
He hesitates by the doorway, fingers curling into the strap of his bag. Waiting would be right, he thinks. Saying goodbye properly would be right.
…And he has to get his bow.
With a quiet sigh, Harua turns toward the river instead.
The path feels different in daylight — less enchanted, more familiar. He folds his pants at the knee automatically before stepping into the shallows, water cool against his skin. The current greets him like an old acquaintance.
His crossbow rests where he left it, leaned carefully against a stone.
Wait no, it's in the water.
Weird.
Beyond it, the target board still stands — crooked, flower dye faded where arrows struck too often and too hard.
He slows.
Memories rush in unbidden — the unicorn’s charge, Willow’s laughter, the first arrow that flew true, the way the forest had gone quiet when the bond first stirred between them.
He steps into the water for the bow—
And freezes.
The water ripples.
Not with warning.
With attention.
Harua straightens slowly, heart beginning to pound.
Something is wrong.
The river stirs.
Not the gentle, conversational pull Willow taught him to listen for — not curiosity, not play.
Warning.
Harua stills, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag. The current brushes his calves, insistent now, tugging. He closes his eyes. Forces his breathing to slow. Listens the way she showed him — not with his ears, but with the part of him that learned to survive.
Look.
The ripples aren’t random. They radiate outward. Interrupted. Broken where something heavy entered the water.
His heart starts to race. The forest is wrong. Too quiet.
Not the respectful hush of dawn — the absence of sound. No birds bickering. No insects humming. Even the trees feel withdrawn, their presence dimmed like a breath held too long.
Willow should be here.
She would’ve woken him. Or left a note. Or argued with the river about it being dramatic. She would not have let him leave without—
His thoughts stutter. Harua turns slowly.
His bow and arrow lie half-submerged in the shallows, exactly where he didn’t leave them. The leather wrap is soaked through. The dragon bone gleams wetly under the sun.
Cold slides down his spine. He looks back toward the clearing.
The soil is dark. Trampled. Mud splashed high against stones, footprints dragged and smeared as if something struggled — or was pulled. Water streaks lead away from the riverbank and vanish into the undergrowth.
Harua’s breath comes sharp.
Did Willow grab his bow to protect herself?
“No,” he whispers. The river surges.
Taken, it tells him, frantic now. Gone. Too loud. Too fast. We tried to hold her—
His knees hit the water.
The pieces crash together with brutal clarity. The early morning silence. The way she didn’t wake him. A farewell he didn’t understand.
“Oh gods,” Harua breathes, fingers digging into wet earth. “No— no, no, no—”
The mate bond flares — not warm, not steady.
Yanked.
Sharp and sudden, like something hooked into his chest and pulled hard enough to make him gasp.
Fear.
Not his.
Hers.
Harua’s head snaps up, eyes blazing gold as instinct roars to life.
Whoever took her made a mistake.
Harua drops to his knees at the river’s edge.
“Tell me,” he snarls, palms pressed into the wet stones. “Where did she go?”
The water roils.
Not direction — chaos.
It bubbles violently now, froth breaking the surface as if the river itself is choking on its words.
“Focus,” he pants, squeezing his eyes shut. “Willow said— information travels fastest when you listen. Just— just tell me where to start.”
The current surges harder. Bubbles rise in clusters. Not natural. Not breath.
Harua’s eyes snap open.
Bubbles?
The water finally parts.
They emerge slowly, mockingly — figures pulling themselves from the river as if stepping out of a memory that learned how to walk. Skin slick and iridescent, scaled in places, veins glowing faintly blue beneath translucent flesh. Too human. Wrongly human.
Leviathians.
One tilts its head, lips curling. “Wow. You look terrible.”
Another laughs, sharp and wet. “Is this the great wolf? Crying at the river for his little bitch?”
Harua’s vision blurs red. “Do not call her that,” he growls. “Where is she?”
They exchange glances, exaggerated confusion.
“Oh? Was she yours?” “I thought she belonged to the forest.” “Or maybe she just didn’t want to wait around for you.”
The bond burns.
Pain floods his chest — sudden, vicious — like something has been ripped open after days of false calm. Harua gasps as it finally hits him, the ache he told Willow he didn’t have, blooming all at once.
A roar tears from his throat.
Bones crack.
Fur explodes outward as he shifts mid-lunge, massive paws slamming into the shallows. Water sprays as he barrels forward, jaws snapping, teeth bared.
The first leviathian doesn’t even try to dodge.
Harua collides with it — and the impact sends pain screaming through his shoulder as something hard and unyielding meets his claws. Another hits him from the side. Then another.
Too many.
They move like water — flowing around him, dragging him down, limbs wrapping tight and slick. He tears into one, fangs sinking into glowing flesh, earning a shriek — but a blade of hardened coral slams into his ribs.
Crack.
He howls.
Something pierces his foreleg. Another strikes his spine. He thrashes, snapping, drawing blood — but every wound he inflicts is answered tenfold.
They drag him back onto the bank.
Harua shifts back with a scream, human again, gasping, hands clawing uselessly at the ground. His arm hangs wrong. Blood mats his hair. His vision swims.
Still, he bares his teeth.
“Is she dead?” he demanded to know. “Did you kill her?”
The leviathians circle him slowly now. Enjoying this.
One crouches in front of him, close enough that Harua can smell salt and rot on its breath. “Dead?” it scoffs. “No. Gods, no.”
Another sighs dramatically. Almost bored. “She’s far too useful for that.”
Harua’s heart stutters.
“She heals. Annoyingly fast might I add,” the first continues. “She listens. She knows things our enemies — you — hide.” Its eyes narrow. “And she has so much pride. Refuses to cooperate.”
A third laughs softly. “So we’ve been… persuading her.”
Something inside Harua shatters. His claws dig into the dirt as he tries to rise.
Fails.
A foot presses down on his injured arm. He screams — a raw, animal sound ripped straight from his chest.
The leviathian leans down and spits onto the ground beside his face.
“Tell your pack what happens,” it hisses, “when you touch what belongs to the deep.”
Harua shakes violently, wet, caked in mud, bloodied, broken — the echo of Willow’s fear still burning through the bond.
Because somewhere far away, beneath stone and salt and screaming water—
She is alive. And waiting.
The leviathian grips Harua’s face, fingers cold and unyielding, its voice deeper than the ocean itself.
“Run.”
©inkedbysonny
Blood On The Moon
✐ᝰ word count: 13.8k ✐ᝰ genre: fantasy, romance, angst, slow burn, action, werewolf!euijoo, warlock!oc, mythic war, pack dynamics ✐ᝰ warnings: graphic violence, blood and injury, war themes, religious trauma, misinterpretation of divine signs, emotional distress, guilt and self-blame, dissociation, fear of failure, near-death experiences, references to experimentation and captivity, body horror elements, strained faith, mild misogyny (challenged and unlearned), strong language ✐ᝰ author’s note: okay so this arc goes through a different direction from the first 3, i thought it'd be fun to flip the dynamics espcially if the alpha was the damsel in distress so this was so much fun to write!! plus the fact that i'm in love with euijoo doesnt help. also yes the moon is still shady <3 as always this arc can be read standalone, but reading the previous ones will definitely heighten the emotional payoff and lore reveals. thank you for reading — thoughts, feelings, and unhinged theories are very welcome!! ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ links to other parts of the veilbourne saga: part 1 (jo) | part 2 (nicholas) | part 3 (k) | part 5 (harua) part 6 (yuma) | part 7 (taki) | part 8 (maki) | part 9 (fuma)
Across the den, Euijoo watched.
Relief sat heavy in his chest at the sight of it. The pack alive. K breathing. Lyra here. It was what he had prayed for — what he had bled for. And yet, beneath that relief, something else throbbed.
Duller now than before. Less violent.
But still there.
K sat on the floor beside his mate like he was afraid she might disappear if he stood.
The den was quieter than it had been in days — not peaceful, exactly, but softer. Wounds had been cleaned, blood scrubbed from stone, the pack scattered in exhausted pockets of rest. Lyra leaned against K’s chest, wrapped in one of the older pelts, her fingers twisting absently in his sleeve as if grounding herself. She hadn’t spoken much. She didn’t need to. Every breath she took felt like a victory.
“You don’t have to stay here,” K murmured, voice low, careful. “We can move you. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere with light.”
Lyra blinked slowly, eyes unfocused but present enough to find him. After a moment, she shook her head. Just once.
Here is fine.
K smiled — small, wrecked, reverent — and pressed his forehead to hers.
The ache beneath Euijoo’s sternum pulsed again, slow and insistent, like a reminder he had not asked for.
Euijoo inhaled through it, jaw tightening.
Not now.
He turned away before anyone could notice, before Harua’s sharp eyes caught the way his hand hovered too close to his chest. “I’m going to check the perimeter,” he said evenly.
Fuma glanced up from where he was rewrapping his arm. “Now?”
“Now,” Euijoo replied.
No one questioned him. They never did.
He moved through the den tunnels with practiced ease, past the familiar stone and scent of home — until he reached the space that was no longer theirs alone.
Nova had made herself comfortable. Unsettlingly so.
She sat cross-legged atop a crate that had once held dried herbs, humming to herself as she examined a charcoal sketch pinned to the wall. One of Jo’s, Euijoo noted distantly. The warlock leaned in far too close to it, nose nearly brushing the stone.
“Oh,” she said, delighted. “This one’s you.”
Euijoo stopped short. “Why are you touching our walls.”
She glanced over her shoulder, blue hair spilling loose down her back, eyes bright. “Because they’re interesting? You wolves are very sentimental. Everything smells like memory.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She hopped down lightly, turning to face him fully — cloak half-draped, grin unapologetic. “Hi, Alpha.”
The word still felt strange coming from her.
“Warlock,” Euijoo said, curt.
“Oof. Cold. And here I thought we were past formalities.” She tilted her head, studying him — then frowned. “Huh.”
He stiffened. “What.”
“Your chest still hurts.”
It wasn’t a question.
Euijoo exhaled sharply. “That’s not your concern.”
“It kind of is,” Nova said mildly. “Considering I’m the reason you’re feeling it at all.”
That stopped him. The dull ache flared — not sharply, but unmistakably — like something responding to being named.
Euijoo straightened, every instinct screaming order, control, certainty. “Then we need to talk.”
“Oh good,” Nova said brightly. “I love talks.”
“This isn’t—” He paused, recalibrated. “This is about the bond.”
Her smile softened. Not surprised. Just… knowing.
“I figured,” she said.
Euijoo nodded once, resolute. “I won’t force it on you. Whatever this is — fate, the Moon, coincidence — you deserve a choice. If you don’t want this bond, I’ll bear the consequences. The pain. The severance. All of it.”
Nova blinked. Then she laughed. Not mockingly — genuinely, hands on her knees, shoulders shaking. “Oh my god, you’re serious.”
His eye twitched. “This is not amusing.”
“No, no,” she gasped, wiping under her eye. “It’s just— you came in here looking like you were about to negotiate a trade agreement.”
“I am an Alpha.”
“You’re a disaster,” she said fondly.
Euijoo felt something in his chest shift. Not hurt — just… tilt.
“I came here for clarity,” he said stiffly. “Not— not whatever this is.”
Nova straightened, eyes suddenly sharp beneath the humor. “Okay. Clarity.”
She stepped closer — close enough that he could feel the magic radiating off her, dense and electric. “You think the Moon Goddess tied us together.”
“Yes.”
“And you think that gives her the right to decide that for us.”
“It’s not about rights,” Euijoo snapped. “It’s about order. Tradition. Wolves don’t question the Moon.”
Nova hummed thoughtfully. “See, that’s where we differ.”
His jaw clenched. “Of course we do.”
She gestured vaguely upward. “Sure, the Moon exists. She’s powerful. Mysterious. Very aesthetic. But I don’t see her here, do you? I don’t see her enforcing this bond. I don’t see her standing between us.”
“That’s because Gods don’t need to,” Euijoo said, voice rising despite himself. “They just are.”
Nova’s grin returned — dangerous and delighted. “Wow. You really believe that.”
“Yes!”
“And you’ve never considered,” she said lightly, “that maybe fate nudged you toward me — not because you’re meant to obey it, but because you’re meant to choose?”
Silence fell between them.
Euijoo stared at her. Then, for the first time in the longest while, the Alpha of the pack laughed — sharp, incredulous, almost hysterical. “This is insane.”
Nova beamed. “Welcome to it.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “I wanted a simple conversation.”
“And instead,” she said cheerfully, “you got me.”
The ache in his chest pulsed again — not painful.
Warm. Unavoidable. Euijoo lowered his hand slowly, meeting her eyes at last.
“This,” he said quietly, “is going to be a problem.”
Nova tilted her head, smile softening into something real. “Yeah,” she agreed. “It is.”
Euijoo didn’t announce anything to the pack. That alone should have been a warning sign.
Normally, matters of fate, bonds, and divine interference were not kept private — not by an Alpha who had been raised to believe transparency was survival. But this wasn’t something he could frame into words yet. Not when Nova’s laughter still echoed faintly in his ears. Not when the warmth in his chest refused to fade, stubborn and steady, like a presence rather than a sensation.
He left the den quietly.
The pack was scattered through the lower chambers — exhausted bodies slumped against stone, the aftermath of war still clinging to them in the form of bloodstains and half-healed wounds. K sat with Lyra near the hearth, murmuring to her softly, his massive frame folded protectively around her smaller one. She didn’t respond much, but her fingers were curled into his sleeve. That was enough.
Euijoo paused there longer than he meant to.
The Moon had done this, hadn’t she?
Or at least, he had always believed she had.
Yet standing there, watching K lean his forehead against Lyra’s temple, Euijoo felt it again — that faint, unsettling doubt Nova had planted so effortlessly.
The bond hadn’t fixed Lyra. It hadn’t healed her mind. It hadn’t spared K months of agony. It had only connected them.
Euijoo turned away and went to the sacred prayer site at dawn.
Not because he expected answers — he had stood here before, beneath the same pale arch of stone, the same ring of lunar etchings worn smooth by centuries of knees and hands. Silence was not unfamiliar to him.
He came because he needed to be calm.
Because Nova’s laughter still echoed too loudly in his head. Because the warmth in his chest refused to fade. Because doubt, once named, had a way of spreading.
The clearing was quiet. Reverent. The air carried the faint scent of ash and night-blooming flowers, silver leaves stirring gently as moonlight filtered through the canopy. The Moon hung low and full above him — serene, immaculate, untouched by blood or war.
Euijoo knelt. He placed his palm against the stone altar, fingers curling into familiar grooves, and bowed his head.
Guide me, he thought.
Not as an Alpha. Not as a leader of nine fractured wolves. Just as a believer who wanted reassurance that his world still made sense.
The Moon did not answer.
No warmth spread through his chest. No subtle pull. No voice, no omen, no quiet certainty settling into his bones.
Nothing.
The silence pressed heavier than it ever had before. Euijoo exhaled slowly — controlled, measured — and stayed where he was. That was when he noticed the things he had never lingered on before.
How the Moon always warned, never acted. How she sent signs, dreams, instincts — but never claws. How she watched from above as wolves bled beneath her light.
When the Leviathians breached the Veil, the Moon had glowed brighter. She had not come down. When K screamed himself apart over Lyra’s absence, the Moon had whispered. She had not reached out. When the pack stood on the edge of extinction—
Euijoo’s jaw tightened.
Nova had been there.
Ink-black magic. Blood on her hands. Power wielded with consequence, not distance. And yet—
His gaze lifted back to the Moon. You led me to her. That truth still stood.
It had been the Moon Goddess who guided his steps to Blackwater Cliffs. Who pushed him toward a warlock who did not kneel, did not pray, did not believe in obedience as virtue.
So what did that mean?
That faith required intermediaries? That gods acted only through others? Or that he had mistaken reverence for responsibility?
“You’re thinking very loudly.”
Euijoo stiffened.
He didn’t turn immediately — pride or habit, he wasn’t sure — but he knew it was her before he heard her footsteps.
Nova stepped into the clearing as if she belonged there.
No grand entrance. No disruption of the wards. She simply was, moonlight catching in her blue hair, eyes sharp and curious as she took in the sight of him kneeling.
Euijoo rose to his feet, spine straight, composure snapping back into place like armour. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said evenly.
She shrugged. “Probably not. But you weren’t exactly hiding.”
“I came to pray.”
“I figured.” She glanced at the altar, then at the Moon overhead. “Did she answer?”
His silence was answer enough.
Nova didn’t mock him. Didn’t smile. She only tilted her head slightly, thoughtful. “Can I ask you something?” she said.
Euijoo nodded once.
“When was the last time she helped you?” Nova asked. “Not warned. Not nudged. Actually helped.”
The question landed harder than any accusation. Euijoo’s jaw tightened. “That’s not how Gods operate.”
“Then why do you operate like she does?” Nova countered gently.
He met her gaze then — steady, controlled, but something sharp flickered beneath.
“She gave us the bond,” he said. “She gave us purpose. She led me to you.”
Nova smiled faintly. “I don’t doubt that.”
“Then why challenge her?” he asked, heat threading through his voice despite himself. “Why challenge belief that’s kept my pack alive for generations?”
Nova stepped closer — not invading, just near enough to matter. “I’m not challenging your goddess,” she said softly. “I’m challenging the idea that faith absolves you from choosing.”
Euijoo clenched his fists at his sides.
Inside him, something simmered — not rage, but frustration sharp enough to sting. He had prayed for certainty. For reassurance.
Instead, he was being asked questions he didn’t have answers to.
And worse — They made sense.
“I don’t doubt gods exist,” Nova continued. “I just don’t wait for them when people are bleeding.”
The Moon shone on them both. Untouched. Silent.
Euijoo looked up once more — searching, pleading, almost without realizing it. Still nothing.
When he looked back at Nova, his voice was calm. Too calm. “You speak as if belief is a weakness.”
Nova met his gaze without flinching. “No,” she said. “I think believing without acting is.”
The ache in his chest pulsed again. Not painful. But insistent. Unresolved.
The Moon did not come that night.
Nor the next.
Nor the night after that.
Euijoo prayed anyway.
He prayed at dawn, when the sky was pale and uncertain. He prayed at dusk, when the Moon should have been listening. He prayed until his knees ached and his throat burned from murmured reverence.
No dreams came. No omens. No pull in his chest that he could mistake for guidance.
The absence was not violent. It was worse. It was quiet.
He told himself this was normal. He had gone stretches before without signs, without reassurance — the Moon Goddess was not indulgent, after all. Faith was not transactional.
And yet— This silence stung. Because this time, he wasn’t waiting alone. Nova was everywhere.
Not loudly. Not theatrically. She did not demand space or worship or gratitude. She simply moved, ink-dark magic humming softly under her skin as she knelt beside Harua, murmuring adjustments to healing brews that shimmered with lunar-adjacent light but obeyed her hands.
“Less silverleaf,” she said once, nose wrinkling. “You’ll numb the nerves too much.”
Harua blinked. “The Moon texts say—”
“I know,” Nova replied, unfazed. “They’re outdated.”
Euijoo watched from the den entrance, unease curling low in his stomach. This was supposed to be the Moon’s domain.
Healing. Balance. Restoration.
And yet here Nova was — sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, magic precise and deliberate — guiding where the Moon had only ever suggested.
Later, he saw her sitting with K and Lyra.
Not intervening. Not overpowering the bond. Just… listening.
Nova pressed two fingers lightly to Lyra’s wrist, eyes half-lidded as she traced the fragile pulse of the mate-link.
“It’s stabilising,” she said quietly. “Still damaged. But alive.”
K sagged with relief.
She’s doing the work. Euijoo realised distantly. Not replacing the Moon. But doing the work Euijoo had believed the Moon Goddess guided him to do.
And the worst part— The pack was recovering.
Wolves who had been hollow-eyed days ago were laughing again, limping but alive. The den smelled less like blood, more like food. Hope crept back in slowly, stubbornly.
Without a single omen from the Moon.
Euijoo stood beneath her light that night, chest tight, hands curled uselessly at his sides. Had he misunderstood all along? Was faith meant to inspire action — not excuse waiting? And if that was true— What did that make Nova? A blasphemy? Or the answer he had been praying for and refusing to recognise?
His gaze drifted to the den, where Nova’s laughter rang out suddenly — bright, unashamed, alive.
The ache in his chest returned. Warm. Persistent. And terrifying.
Because for the first time, Euijoo wasn’t afraid that the Moon Goddess had abandoned him. He was afraid that she never meant to carry him in the first place.
A little more than a week passed.
No one said it out loud, but Nova had become… welcome. The pack welcomed her without fuss. Wolves were pragmatic creatures — anyone who had dragged them back from the brink of death without demanding fealty earned respect quickly. Nova accepted it easily, greeting them with easy smiles, sharp humour, and a surprising gentleness that softened even the most suspicious among them.
She did not claim space. She didn’t assert dominance or demand acknowledgment. She laughed with the younger wolves, corrected Harua gently, and listened far more than she spoke when the pack gathered. If anyone noticed the way her eyes followed Euijoo, they were polite enough not to comment.
She flirted with him shamelessly.
Never in front of the pack.
Never crossing a line he hadn’t drawn — though she clearly enjoyed skirting the edges of it. And somehow, that consideration — that restraint — mattered more to him than any declaration ever could.
A brush of fingers when she passed him a cup. A low, teasing murmur meant only for his ears. A smirk when he caught her looking.
Euijoo pretended not to notice. Nova pretended not to notice that he noticed.
She helped the pack without expectation.
Tended to wounds that still ached. Adjusted wards around the den with practiced ease. Sat with Harua long into the night, murmuring over salves and sigils until the healer finally slept.
She asked for nothing in return.
And then — impossibly — she sat with Euijoo during his rituals.
Crossed legged beside him at the sacred stones. Hands folded loosely in her lap. Silent.
She did not mock him. Did not challenge him. Did not roll her eyes or argue theology.
Sometimes she said nothing at all. Sometimes she asked questions — not challenges, just curiosities.
“Does the Moon ever answer immediately?” “Do you think silence is a test… or an invitation?”
The Moon Goddess did not respond. Not once. And still, Nova stayed.
Even when the silence stretched long and uncomfortable and painful.
That, more than anything, undid him. For someone powerful enough to collapse battlefields — someone who openly did not kneel to gods — to respect his faith without demanding he abandon it…
Euijoo found himself grateful in a way that felt frighteningly deep. He began to look forward to her presence. To the way her laughter echoed through the den. To the way she argued with him just enough to keep him sharp. To the way she listened when he spoke — truly listened — even when she disagreed.
When Nova teleported back to her manor at night, Euijoo found himself lingering at the den entrance longer than necessary, gaze drifting to the empty air where she’d stood moments ago.
The realisation struck him harder than he expected.
He missed her.
Missed the way she teased him behind the pack’s back. Missed the steady competence with which she cared for his wolves. Missed the strange comfort of her presence during prayer — even unanswered prayer.
It felt like a piece of him had shifted into place without his noticing. A puzzle solving itself.
I could get used to this.
Maybe he could stop seeking reassurance from the Moon. Maybe that’s what the Moon wanted after all. Maybe silence was the answer.
Sleep took him quietly.
The dream did not announce itself. There was no voice. No words. No warmth. Only light.
Moonlight spilled across black water, fractured and trembling, as if the sea itself were unsure whether it deserved reflection. The Shattersea lay unnaturally still, its surface too smooth, too quiet — like a held breath.
Euijoo stood alone on a high cliff.
Below him, the tide pulled back farther than it should have, exposing jagged rock and dark hollows where something moved just beyond sight. Shapes shifted beneath the water — not rising, not attacking. Waiting.
The Moon hung low and thin, a pale crescent carved into the sky.
Not full. Not watching. Pointing.
Its light stretched across the water in a single, narrow path, silver and precise, ending at a place where the sea met stone. A shoreline. A threshold.
No pack. No sound.
Just him. Surrounded by blood. Too much blood.
The wind rose — sharp, insistent — and with it came a feeling he knew intimately: expectation.
Not urgency. Not fear.
Trust.
The Moon did not descend. Did not speak. Did not act.
It only remained where it had always been. Above.
When he woke, his chest ached — but not painfully. Relief settled into his bones like something long denied and finally granted.
She hadn’t abandoned him. The Moon Goddess was still there. Still watching. Still guiding.
Euijoo exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to his sternum, grounding himself in the familiar rhythm of belief. The confusion Nova had stirred quieted, just enough.
This was what he had been missing: Not answers. Confirmation.
He rose before dawn, calm and resolved, already shaping meaning from the dream — already certain of what it asked of him.
Discretion. Solitude. An Alpha’s burden, borne alone.
He would not involve the pack. He would not involve Nova. This was not a battle. It was a vigil.
And the Moon, he believed, trusted him to keep it.
Euijoo gathered the pack at first light.
Wolves settled around him, eyes sharp, ears angled forward. This was familiar. This was right.
Euijoo stood at the center of the den, posture straight, expression calm. The ache in his chest had faded to a dull warmth — steady, manageable. He did not pace. Did not hesitate.
“When I slept,” he began, voice even, “the Moon sent a dream.”
Every head lifted. No one interrupted.
He described it plainly. The still sea. The receding tide. The crescent moon, low and narrow, casting a single path of light toward the shore. He did not embellish. He did not speculate aloud. He spoke as an Alpha should — delivering information, not uncertainty.
“The Leviathians are moving,” he concluded. “Not attacking. Watching. Waiting.”
Fuma’s jaw tightened. Harua shifted forward. Yuma’s tail flicked once — calculating.
“Where?” Fuma asked.
“A stretch of coast north of here,” Euijoo replied. “A threshold. A place they believe unguarded.”
He did not give any instructions but the pack was already moving.
Leather straps tightened. Blades were checked. Someone reached for a spear. It happened instinctively, seamlessly — a pack preparing to follow their Alpha into the dark without being asked.
Euijoo lifted one hand. They froze.
“I’m going alone.”
The words were calm. Certain. Not a challenge. The den went still. Fuma’s mouth opened — then closed.
No one argued. Not because they didn’t care. But because this was Euijoo. The Alpha who bore weight without complaint. The one who made decisions that kept them alive. The one who never asked them to bleed where he would not first.
If he said this was his burden, then it was.
“You sure?” Fuma asked at last, voice tight.
Euijoo nodded once, grateful — and just a little relieved. “This is reconnaissance,” he added. “Not war. I’ll return before nightfall.”
He turned then, dismissing them with a quiet authority that needed no reinforcement.
And as the pack dispersed, he found himself thinking — not of the coast, not of the Leviathians. But of blue hair and soft smiles. Of laughter echoing where it shouldn’t. Of how Nova would react when he told her the Moon had spoken again.
The thought unsettled him.
And, inexplicably, thrilled him.
He looked for a reflective surface immediately when he rushed to his room — the way you summon a warlock. Only if they agreed to answer.
He settled for a hair pin Nova had left behind, (When, he did not know, but he wouldn’t have minded if she were to leave more) and gave it a quick swipe with this thumb to clean. And then he whispered, “Nova. Nova. Nova. Nova.”
He didn’t even realise a smile growing on his face as he whispered the last summon, “Nova.”
She appeared in seconds, through a hole in the middle of the air of his room.
“You’re calling me first?” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “Either the world’s ending again or—”
“I had a dream,” Euijoo said.
Her attention snapped to him immediately. “Oh?”
“The Moon Goddess sent it,” he continued, unable to keep the faint edge of satisfaction from his tone. “She showed me movement along the northern coast. A warning.”
Nova studied him — not skeptical, not dismissive. Curious. “And?” she prompted.
“And I’m going to investigate,” he said. “Discreetly.”
A beat.
Then she smiled — soft, genuine. “I’m glad you got what you were looking for.” Something in her voice made him pause.
“I wanted you to know,” he added, suddenly aware of how much he wanted her approval. “The Moon hasn’t abandoned us.”
Nova didn’t argue. Didn’t scoff. Didn’t challenge him — not yet.
She only tilted her head, blue hair sliding over her shoulder, eyes thoughtful.
“I never said she had,” she replied gently. “Just that watching isn’t the same as catching you when you fall.” The words landed softly. Too softly.
Euijoo straightened, that familiar certainty settling back into place. “This is my responsibility.”
Nova’s smile didn’t fade. But something unspoken flickered behind her eyes.
“Then be careful, handsome,” she said lightly. “I’d hate to say I told you so.”
He scoffed — quiet, almost fond.
“I’ll be fine,” he said.
And for the first time in a long while, he believed it.
The coast smelled wrong.
Salt, yes — but threaded through it was something darker. Old. Metallic. Like blood left too long in water.
Euijoo crouched at the edge of the treeline, gaze fixed on the shoreline below. The northern coast stretched out in a pale curve of stone and tide, moonlight glinting softly across wet sand. The sea was calm. Too calm. No waves breaking. No foam.
Still. Just like the dream.
He exhaled slowly, grounding himself.
Watching. Waiting.
The Moon hung low overhead, a thin crescent — narrow, deliberate. Its reflection cut a single path across the water, just as he’d seen. A threshold.
Reassurance settled in his chest. He had read the signs correctly. Euijoo adjusted his stance and waited.
Minutes passed. Then more. The wind shifted, tugging faintly at his cloak. His senses stretched outward — listening, tasting the air, tracking subtle changes in pressure and sound.
Nothing.
No movement in the water. No Leviathian silhouettes breaking the surface. No ripples where something large slipped beneath the tide.
His brow furrowed. They should have been here. The Moon never makes mistakes.
He shifted closer to the rocks, boots crunching softly against pebbled ground. The vantage point was better there — closer to the shore, closer to the light’s edge. He told himself it was tactical. That this was what reconnaissance required.
Still reasonable. Still careful. Still alone.
A flicker caught his attention — not movement, exactly, but absence. A patch of water where moonlight refused to reflect. A darker shape beneath the surface, barely perceptible.
Euijoo stilled. There. His pulse quickened, not with fear but validation.
You were right.
He scanned the shoreline again. Counted exits. Tracked the tide’s slow retreat. He could report this back. Pull away now. Bring the pack.
But the Moon had shown him this alone.
Hadn’t she?
He edged closer. That was the first mistake.
The ground shifted beneath his foot — not a trap, not a rune — just slick stone damp with algae. He caught himself easily, barely a stumble.
Harmless. But the sound echoed louder than it should have.
The water moved.
A ripple spread outward from the dark patch, then another — concentric circles distorting the moon’s reflection. Something large shifted beneath the surface.
Euijoo’s hand went instinctively to the weapon at his side. Watching. Waiting.
Show me a sign if I need to go. Now.
The Moon did not warn him to retreat.
So he stayed.
Another shape surfaced — not fully, just enough to break the water’s skin. A ridged silhouette. Blackened scales glistening faintly before slipping back beneath the tide.
One Leviathian. Then another. They weren’t attacking. They were positioning.
His confidence wavered — just a fraction. This was more than reconnaissance.
Still, he didn’t retreat.
He moved again, carefully this time, stepping closer to the waterline. He needed a clearer look. Needed confirmation. Needed—
The sand beneath his foot gave way.
He dropped hard, knee slamming into stone. Pain flared sharp and sudden, breath knocked loose from his lungs.
The sound carried. The water erupted.
Leviathians surged upward in a violent churn of black and gray, limbs breaking the surface in jagged arcs. Claws scraped against rock. Teeth flashed wet and pale.
Too many.
Euijoo scrambled upright, shifting instinctively — bones cracking, muscle tearing and reforming — but he was already too late.
A Leviathian lunged from the surf, slamming into him mid-shift. He hit the ground hard, vision flashing white as claws raked across his shoulder, tearing through fur and flesh alike.
He howled — pain and fury blending as he lashed out, jaws snapping shut around scaled limb. The taste was foul, acidic. He tore free, rolling, forcing distance.
Another struck from behind. Then another. They weren’t chaotic. They were coordinated.
Watching. Waiting.
They had been waiting for him. The realisation hit like ice down his spine. This wasn’t a stakeout. It was a test. Or worse — a trap.
He fought viciously, instinct and training carrying him through the first wave. Blood soaked into the sand — his and theirs — darkening the shore. He felled one, then another, claws ripping through sinew and scale.
But for every Leviathian that fell, two more replaced it.
His chest burned. His limbs grew heavy. A strike caught his flank, deep enough to stagger him. Another tore into his thigh, sending him sprawling.
He tried to retreat — to gain ground, to reach the treeline. A Leviathian cut him off.
Panic flared — sharp, unwelcome.
Moon Goddess, he thought desperately. Please. Help.
The Moon hung silent above him.
No howl echoed in response. No surge of strength. No divine intervention.
Only watching.
A claw pierced his side, driving the breath from his lungs in a wet, choking gasp. He collapsed hard onto the sand, vision blurring as blood pooled beneath him. Did I misread it?
The truth landed heavy and unforgiving. The Moon hadn’t sent him here to act alone. She had warned him.
And he had mistaken warning for approval.
A shadow loomed over him — larger than the others. Older. Its eyes glowed faintly as it leaned close, voice scraping out in broken, learned speech.
“Alpha...” Terror sparked — cold and absolute.
Euijoo tried to rise. His body refused.
The sea surged behind them, waves finally crashing hard against the shore — violent now, relentless. The Leviathians closed in, teeth bared, claws ready.
And for the first time in his life, Euijoo understood— Faith did not make him untouchable.
And gods did not bleed. He did.
Night fell without ceremony.
No returning footsteps. No familiar presence settling into the den. No Alpha.
At first, no one said it.
Wolves moved through their evening routines with too much care, glancing toward the entrance more often than necessary. Fires were stoked and left unstirred. Food cooled untouched.
It was Harua who stopped mid-motion, hands hovering uselessly over a mortar of half-ground herbs.
“…He should be back.”
The words were soft. Too soft.
Fuma looked up immediately.
“He said before nightfall,” Harua added, brows knitting. “The sun’s been down for—”
“I know,” Fuma snapped, sharper than intended.
The den shifted.
A low murmur spread, instinctive and uneasy. Tails flicked. Ears pinned. Someone paced. Someone else stood too still.
“He’s probably delayed,” Taki said quickly, already halfway to his feet. “Currents change, paths shift—he knows that coast. We know where he is. We could just go.”
Nicholas turned on him. “And do what? Trample the area and announce ourselves?”
“Better than sitting here,” Taki shot back.
Yuma leaned against a pillar, jaw tight, eyes distant — calculating ten moves ahead and hating every one of them. “I could call in a favour. The Fae owe me.”
Silence.
Every head turned. Harua sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s a terrible idea.”
“They twist words,” Jo added darkly. “And prices.”
“I didn’t say it was good,” Yuma muttered. “I said it was an option.”
Maki had already moved toward the open mouth of the den, head tilted back, chest expanding as he let out a long, aching howl — a call meant for the Moon herself.
The sound echoed. Then faded.
Nothing answered.
The Moon hung bright and distant above them, serene and uncaring. Fuma’s hands curled into fists.
This was wrong.
A pack could function without its Alpha for hours — days, even — but the absence was different. Like a limb gone numb. Like breathing with half a lung.
Euijoo was never late. Not like this.
“He would’ve sent word,” Harua said, voice barely steady now. “If something had changed.”
“He said reconnaissance,” Fuma replied. “He said alone.”
The word tasted bitter now. Tension snapped.
Taki was already grabbing his gear. “I’m going. Whether you—”
A sudden crack split the air.
Smoke bloomed in the center of the den, curling thick and blue, sparks snapping softly as a familiar silhouette stepped through it with casual grace.
Nova dusted ash from her sleeve.
“Okay,” she said brightly, glancing around at the pack’s drawn faces, scattered weapons, and half-shifted forms. “Either someone died or someone really messed up.”
She paused. “…Oh god. Did someone actually die?”
No one laughed. No one moved.
The silence hit her harder than any scream.
Her smile faltered.
Lyra, pale and resting against a wall, lifted her head weakly. “Nova…”
That was all it took.
Nova’s expression shifted instantly — the humour draining away, posture sharpening. She took in the den properly this time. The empty centre. The way no one stood where Euijoo always did.
“Where’s your Alpha,” she asked quietly.
Fuma stepped forward. “He went to the northern coast. Stakeout. Said he’d return before nightfall.”
Nova blinked once. Then twice. “Oh,” she said.
Not relief. Not reassurance. Recognition.
She ran a hand through her blue hair, gaze flicking upward instinctively — to the Moon, bright and useless above them.
“How long,” she asked.
“Hours,” Harua answered. “Too long.”
The pack closed in around her without realising it — not threatening, but desperate. Eyes sharp. Shoulders tense.
“Can you—” Taki started. “Can you do something? A spell. A ward. Something to protect him.”
“Track him,” Yuma added. “Shield him. Anything.”
Nova opened her mouth. Closed it. The pause stretched.
Her voice, when it came, was softer than any of them expected.
“I can’t.”
The words landed like a dropped blade.
“What do you mean, you can’t?” K demanded.
She dragged a hand down her face, frustration sparking like static. “My magic isn’t gentle. It doesn’t shield.”
She gestured vaguely, the air rippling where her power brushed it. “I don’t isolate harm. I erase it. I don’t move pieces — I flip the board.”
The den creaked softly as reality itself seemed to tense.
“If I tried to protect Euijoo alone,” she continued quietly, “everything near him would pay the price. Enemies. Ground. Sea. Possibly him.”
Harua swallowed. “You’d hurt him?”
“I’d risk breaking the world around him,” Nova snapped. Then, softer, bitter: “And I won’t gamble his life like that.”
Her gaze flicked upward. To the Moon.
Bright. Distant. Silent.
Anger bled through her composure, sharp and controlled and dangerous.
“Your Goddess sent him,” Nova said. “Alone. With warnings instead of help.”
Fuma bristled. “The Moon guides—”
“The Moon watches,” Nova cut in. “And lets wolves bleed to prove devotion.”
Taki’s voice broke. “Then what do we do?”
Nova looked at them — really looked — a pack unraveling without its centre.
Her magic surged again, restrained only by will.
“We stop pretending silence is wisdom,” she said. The air around her cracked, dark lines spiderwebbing for half a breath before sealing shut. “And we break the rules.”
The coast had lied to him.
It had looked still when he arrived — too still — moonlight glazing the water into something almost holy. The tide was low, exactly as the dream had shown. The sand stretched wide and pale, unmarred.
A threshold.
Euijoo had breathed in salt and certainty and told himself this was right.
Bone cracked, skin split, fur tore free as his body expanded violently into wolf form. The transformation was agony and instinct all at once — teeth snapping, claws gouging wet stone as he lunged forward.
He was strong.
He was strong.
His jaws crushed through armor-like hide, the taste of brine and rot flooding his mouth. He tore one down, then another, his massive body a blur of motion — faster than any wolf in his pack, heavier, stronger. His stamina had always been his pride. He could run longer. Fight harder. Endure more.
For a moment — just a moment — it worked.
Then they multiplied.
They came from the water in waves, slick bodies hauling themselves onto land, eyes glowing with cold intelligence. Too many. Always too many. Claws raked his flank, peeling fur and flesh alike. Something sharp pierced his shoulder, scraping bone. He felt it lodge there, felt the sickening resistance as he twisted free, flesh tearing with a wet sound.
Blood sprayed the sand. His blood.
Pain became everything. Not sharp anymore — just vast. Suffocating. His lungs burned as he fought, chest heaving, vision tunneling. He snapped and tore and killed, but every victory cost him another chunk of himself.
A blow caught his ribs. Something gave. He screamed — a raw, animal sound torn from deep in his chest — and staggered back, paws slipping in blood-soaked sand.
His own. No. No, no—
The thought came unbidden, poisonous.
Retreat.
He hated it.
Hated himself for even thinking it. Like some scolded pup, tail tucked, running from his duty. An Alpha did not flee. An Alpha held the line.
But he was going to die. And dying here would help no one.
So he ran.
He turned and bolted, fully wolf now, body screaming in protest as he pushed past its limits. His lungs felt flayed, every breath a razor. His vision swam. He yelped with every stride as torn muscle protested, as broken ribs stabbed inward.
Blood trailed behind him in a horrific arc.
Oh gods. So much blood.
The beach blurred into red and silver and shadow. His paws slipped. He caught himself. Kept running. Faster. Desperate. Feral.
This is just like the dream.
The realization hit him mid-stride, icy and devastating. Alone. Pools of blood. The moon watching from above. It hadn’t been the Leviathians’ blood in the dream.
It had been his.
Something slammed into his side.
He rolled, crashing hard into stone, the impact knocking the breath from him in a broken wheeze. He tried to rise — failed. His legs buckled. Claws scrabbled uselessly against rock slick with blood.
They surrounded him.
Hands — claws — talons closed around his limbs, iron bands biting deep as chains snapped into place. Cold metal wrapped his legs, his wrists, digging into torn flesh.
He thrashed, snarling, teeth snapping wildly, but he was weak now. So weak.
A blow to the head sent stars exploding across his vision. Laughter followed. Low. Wet. Amused.
“Impressive,” one of them crooned, voice thick but clear — clearer than he remembered. “You almost made it.”
They dragged him — hauled his massive, bleeding body across stone and into darkness. His wolf form faltered, bones grinding as he shrank back into human skin, half naked and shaking, chains now cruelly tight against wrists and ankles.
He was thrown into a cell.
Stone bit into his spine as he landed hard, the impact rattling through his already shattered body. Blood pooled beneath him, warm and sticky.
The Leviathians loomed outside the bars, studying him with open fascination.
“So fast,” one murmured. “Did you see how he ran?”
“Imagine it,” another said, voice bright with hunger. “Wolves in our ranks. Shifting. Infiltrating. Human cities would fall in days.”
“And the strength,” a third added. “The endurance.”
They laughed again.
Euijoo lay there, shaking, every breath shallow and painful. His vision dimmed at the edges. His body felt wrong — heavy, distant, like it no longer belonged to him.
He’d led them here. Gods.
He’d doomed them all.
His pack. His wolves. His mate— The thought fractured him.
Tears burned his eyes as consciousness slipped, chains biting deeper with every shallow movement. He couldn’t fight. Couldn’t shift. Could barely breathe.
So he did the only thing he had left. He prayed. Not eloquently. Not as an Alpha. Just a broken wolf, bleeding out on cold stone.
Moon Goddess, he begged silently. Please.
No pride. No certainty.
I did what you asked. I followed your signs. Please — please don’t let this be for nothing.
Darkness crept closer, swallowing the edges of the cell.
And above it all, somewhere impossibly far away, the moon remained bright.
Watching. Silent.
How could the Moon be so cruel?
The thought fractured through him, sharp and helpless, as another wave of pain tore through his body. Euijoo gasped, the sound wet and broken, lungs struggling against ribs that refused to move the way they should. His healing — his wolf healing — tried. He could feel it, frantic and useless, stitching one wound only for three more to tear open beneath the chains.
It couldn’t keep up. Not with this.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, the words scraping his throat raw. “I’m sorry. I misread it. I tried to be worthy.”
His head lolled back against the cold stone. Tears blurred his vision, streaking down his temples into his hair. Fear wrapped around his chest tighter than the iron binding his wrists — not the sharp fear of battle, not the controlled edge he’d always known.
This was something else. This was terror. He had never felt this afraid before.
Not of death — he had made peace with that long ago — but of dying like this. Alone. Failing everyone who had trusted him to lead. Failing the pack that would wake tomorrow without an Alpha.
“I did what you asked,” he breathed, voice shaking. “I followed the signs. Please. Please don’t leave me here.”
The Moon did not answer.
Pain pulsed through him in nauseating waves. His stomach twisted as he shifted slightly, chains clinking softly — and that was when he felt it fully.
The blood. Gods. There was so much of it.
It soaked his back, slicked the floor beneath him, warm and sticky in a way that made bile rise in his throat. Every shallow breath made it spread further, a dark mirror pooling around his broken body.
So much blood. Enough to make him dizzy. Enough that when his unfocused gaze dropped, he saw it.
His reflection.
Distorted. Shimmering. Pale skin smeared red, eyes blown wide with fear, blood matting his hair. A cracked, ruined Alpha staring back at himself.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
A reflection.
The thought sparked weakly, almost laughable at first — then grew, desperate and frantic, clinging to him like a lifeline.
The Moon would not come. She never had. But there was someone else. Someone who answered when called.
His lips trembled. His voice barely worked. But hope — fragile, aching hope — forced the words out anyway.
“Nova,” he whispered into the blood-slick stone. Once. “Nova.” Twice. “Nova.” Again. “Nova.”
His vision darkened at the edges, consciousness slipping through his fingers like sand.
With the last breath he had, shaking and broken, he dragged his gaze back to his reflection and mouthed her name one final time.
“Nova.”
Please.
And then his vision went black.
The pack was still gearing up to go.
Straps were being pulled tight, blades checked and rechecked, tension snapping through the den like live wire. Jo was mid-sentence, already pacing as he spoke, hands slicing through the air with urgency.
“We split once we hit the north coast,” he said. “Eight of us, different vectors. We fan out, follow scent. He can’t mask all of us—”
Nova stiffened. It wasn’t dramatic. No flash of light. No gasp.
Just a sudden, bone-deep pull in her chest that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with instinct.
Her head snapped up.
“Oh,” she said softly.
Every wolf turned.
Her expression had changed completely — the teasing edge gone, the warmth drained out of her eyes until what remained was sharp, cold, and terrifyingly focused.
“He’s calling me,” she said.
Fuma stepped forward instantly. “Where?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Her jaw clenched. “He doesn’t have time.”
“What do you need?” Harua asked. “Potions—”
Nova was already moving.
“Stay close,” she snapped, and for once there was no humour in her voice at all. “Do not wander. Do not hesitate. And whatever happens—”
Her eyes burned as she looked at them.
“—do not touch him unless I say so.”
The air fractured.
With a snap of her fingers, the world folded in on itself.
If there was one thing you were taught in the magical world — whispered in covens, carved into old grimoires, muttered like a prayer — it was this:
Fear trickery. Fear dragons. Fear gods, if you must.
But if you were smart?
You feared an angry warlock.
And if you were smarter still?
You never, ever crossed a warlock with the family name Han.
They landed in chaos.
Salt-stung air. Black stone. Screams.
The north coast exploded around them the second they appeared — Leviathians lunging from shadow and surf, claws flashing, mouths splitting wide with that familiar, jagged hunger.
The wolves didn’t hesitate. They shifted.
Fur tore through skin, bones snapping and reforming as eight massive forms hit the ground running. Teeth met flesh. Claws met armour. The first wave of Leviathians fell hard, howling as wolves ripped through them with practiced brutality.
But something was wrong.
“—What the fuck?” Taki shouted as a Leviathian blurred past him.
Too fast. Way too fast.
Nicholas barely ducked in time as a shape slammed into him with bone-crushing force, sending him skidding across stone. He rolled, snarling, and came back up just in time to see it happen again.
The Leviathians were moving like wolves.
No. Faster.
“They’ve adapted!” Yuma yelled, skidding to a halt beside Fuma. “They’re matching us!”
Understanding hit all at once. Euijoo.
They had used him. One of a wolf’s strengths — speed. They’d learned from it.
The fight turned savage.
Wolves were fast — but now they were being chased. Claws raked fur. Teeth snapped inches from throats. Blood sprayed the rocks, slicking the ground as bodies collided again and again.
“EUIJOO!”
Maki’s howl ripped through the battlefield.
They saw him.
Chained to a slab of black stone near the cliff’s edge, head slumped, body unmoving. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and reflective, chains glowing faintly with runes that made Harua swear under his breath.
The pack lost it.
Fuma barreled through two Leviathians at once, jaws crushing bone. Jo took a hit meant for Yuma and didn’t even slow down. Nicholas fought like something possessed, red fur matted with gore, eyes wild.
Nova stepped forward. And the world broke.
Ink-black magic tore through the battlefield like a living thing — the ground cracking open, shadows rising and devouring. Leviathians screamed as the spell swallowed them whole, their bodies collapsing into nothing but ash and stains on stone.
Those who tried to strike her simply… ceased.
Not burned. Not torn apart.
Erased.
Reality warped around her, air bending, light shuddering as her power unfurled without restraint.
The Leviathians learned fast. Very fast.
The remaining ones stopped attacking her. Instead, they moved.
Blurs of motion converged around Euijoo’s chained body, claws pressing closer to his throat, to his ribs, to the exposed wounds that hadn’t stopped bleeding.
One of them laughed — a wet, gurgling sound.
“Careful, warlock,” it hissed. “One more step and your Alpha bleeds out.”
Nova froze.
For the first time since she’d arrived— She didn’t move.
Her hands trembled at her sides, magic coiling violently beneath her skin, desperate to be unleashed. The ground around her cracked in spiderweb fractures, ink-black veins spreading outward as she struggled to hold it back.
“You touch him,” she said quietly, dangerously, “and I will end your entire species.”
The Leviathian’s grin widened. “Kick rocks, warlock.”
The pack closed ranks instinctively, snarls vibrating through the air — but they stopped too.
They could feel it. One wrong move. One spell. And Euijoo would die.
Nova’s eyes never left him. Bloodied. Broken. Unconscious.
The Alpha who had prayed for gods. The Alpha who had been answered by her. Her magic wasn’t gentle. It was absolute.
And for the first time in centuries, it wasn’t enough.
The Leviathians circled, claws clicking, eyes glinting with cruel amusement. Euijoo’s chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven gasps. Blood smeared the ground around him, his chains rattling with each shudder of pain.
Nova’s hands hovered over him, black ink-like magic coiling and writhing, desperate to unleash — but restrained. She couldn’t shield him without catastrophic consequences. A single misfire could kill everything near him or fracture reality itself. And she was acutely aware of the Leviathians’ cunning.
“Perhaps,” the tallest of the creatures hissed, voice almost musical in its malice, “we can come to an… arrangement.”
The pack stiffened, every hackle raised.
The Leviathian’s gaze snapped to Nova. “We’ll release him,” it said smoothly, “if you give us something of value. Something you’ve been hiding. Your power… your knowledge… or a weapon capable of turning the tide of the Shattersea War.”
Nova’s head tilted, blue hair catching the dying light. Her lips twitched, “Do you think I’m a fucking genie?”
The Leviathians’ grin widened, but the tension didn’t break. They weren’t afraid of her power — they were counting on her restraint. They knew that one wrong move could destroy more than just them.
“We want,” the Leviathian ignored her previous comment, circling like a predator sizing up prey. “The ability to shapeshift. To any creature we want.”
Nova’s jaw tightened. Her hands trembled slightly, magic coiling tighter, dangerously. She could erase them, end them all in a heartbeat. She could free him without negotiation — but she also knew the cost. Absolute magic is never precise. It doesn’t save without consuming, and Euijoo’s life was too precious, too volatile. She could risk Euijoo alone, but the collateral would destroy the pack… the coast… perhaps even shift the tides of the Shattersea War itself.
She drew a slow breath. “You don’t get to threaten using him,” she said, voice hardening. “But I also don’t bargain like a petty thief.”
The Leviathians hissed in irritation. “Then you accept he dies?”
Nova’s eyes softened fractionally — just for a moment — as they flicked toward Euijoo. Even unconscious, he radiated that alpha presence, that stubborn insistence on responsibility, that fragile faith in the Moon Goddess.
“No,” she said finally, voice low but commanding. “But you will understand: some power cannot be divided without cost. And your game doesn’t factor into what I will do.”
The tension hung thick in the air. The Leviathians were silent, calculating. Nova’s magic coiled around her, dark and hungry, ready to erupt — but restrained by rules she couldn’t break without endangering the very Alpha she swore to protect.
Nova sighed heavily, “Fine. I can do that.”
The wolves erupted in disagreement.
A murmur of satisfaction rolled through the Leviathians.
“Of course,” she added, voice sharp now, “the universe doesn’t work that way. Nothing comes free. This… comes with conditions.”
The tallest Leviathian’s brow furrowed. “Conditions?”
Nova smiled — cruelly playful. “You can only shapeshift while the sun is up. Fail to shift back in time…” Her gaze flicked meaningfully to Euijoo, who was running out of time. “…and you may be trapped. Part human, part beast, never whole again. Permanently. Sometimes worse.”
They didn’t flinch. They had expected a cost.
She continued, “And every transformation will feel… like walking on broken glass. Not enough to knock you out — you’ll survive — but every cell of your body will scream, every nerve on fire, reminding you exactly what this power costs. You will remember it.”
This was more than they had bargained for, but the edge of victory was too tempting to refuse.
The Leviathians’ mouths parted in shock and greed. “Do it,” the tallest one said finally, claws clacking.
It only took a wave of Nova's hand for the Leviathians to start shifting. Their forms wavered, bones creaking, sinew stretching. Fur sprouted, then melted, claws elongating, eyes flickering with the clarity of something new. Nova’s magic coiled like liquid shadow, precise but absolute, threading through each body with ruthless efficiency.
And the cost was immediate.
One Leviathian stumbled, clawed limbs splaying awkwardly, a hiss tearing from its throat. Another fell to its knees, skin shimmering unnaturally as if every cell screamed in protest. Pain flashed across their faces, eyes wide, but they endured — greed and ambition overriding instinctive suffering.
“Remember,” Nova’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and icy, “sunlight. Shift back before nightfall. Fail, and you will never be whole. Every transformation will remind you that power comes with a price.”
Silent murmurs and low growls rippled through the circle as each adjusted to the cruel new power.
“Now.” Nova’s eyes darkened. “Step aside.”
The Leviathians hissed, claws flexing, bodies trembling as they fought to steady themselves. Pain etched across their features, each movement a reminder of the price Nova had imposed. They hadn’t expected it to feel like this. They snarled but couldn’t move with precision. The new power, though seductive, still rattled their coordination.
Fuma seized the moment, leaping forward. With a swift motion, he yanked at Euijoo’s chains. Harua, Yuma, and Maki joined him, muscles straining, claws scraping metal.
Nova’s magic coiled around the Leviathians like black lightning, a subtle press that didn’t strike but forced them to hesitate, disrupting their focus just enough.
Euijoo’s shackles rattled and finally gave way. The pack formed a protective perimeter around him, eyes sharp, teeth bared, and the Leviathians slowly realised they weren’t in control anymore
She had to get them out. Now.
The teleportation was not gentle.
Nova snapped her fingers and the world tore sideways. Salt air vanished. Blood-stench followed them.
They hit the den floor hard—stone biting into knees, claws skidding, breath knocked loose in a collective gasp. Fuma hit the ground first, massive frame skidding as he shifted mid-step, Euijoo’s limp body slung over his back. The Alpha didn’t stir. Didn’t breathe deep. His chest rose shallowly, each breath uneven, wrong.
Too much damage. Too much blood. Too late.
“Move,” Harua shoved past Nova. No warmth. No gratitude. “Put him down—careful—careful—”
Euijoo was lowered onto the ground, chains gone but their marks still burned into his wrists and ankles. Blood soaked the furs beneath him. His wolf healing was working, sluggish and strained, but it was losing the race.
Nova barely had time to steady herself before the den filled with noise—boots scraping, wolves shifting, voices rising over one another. The silence she’d expected never came.
Instead—
“What the hell did you do?” “You gave them what?” “That wasn’t your call!”
The words struck her like thrown stones.
K was the first to square up to her, eyes blazing. “You just armed our enemy,” he snarled. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“I saved him,” Nova shot back, just as sharp. “You traded the future for one life,” Jo said coldly.
“Look, I don’t want to sound like I know it all but it was for the greater good.” Her chest tightened.
Harua didn’t even look at her. He knelt over Euijoo, hands slick with blood, jaw locked so tight it trembled. He didn’t acknowledge her presence—not when she stepped closer, not when she opened her mouth to speak.
That hurt worse than the shouting.
Nova’s fingers curled at her sides. “I bound it with limits. Severe ones.”
“That doesn’t matter,” K snapped. “You still gave it to them.”
The pack began to close in—not hostile, not yet—but instinctive. A tightening semicircle. Pressure. Judgment. “You don’t get to make that decision alone,” Nicholas said. “Not when it affects all of us.”
Nova’s eyes flashed. “He was bleeding out.”
“That doesn’t give you the right—”
“I had seconds,” Nova cut in, voice rising despite herself. “Absolute magic does not pause for debate. I couldn’t shield him. I couldn’t isolate him. If I had unleashed my power without restraint, everything near him would be dead—including some of you.”
Silence. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
“And if you’d done nothing?” K asked quietly.
Nova looked at Euijoo. “He would be,” she said.
That should have ended it.
It didn’t.
“So the choice was us,” Jo said. “You decided the pack could pay the price instead.”
Nova stiffened. “No. I decided the world would survive—with consequences—rather than collapse.”
“This isn’t helping,” Fuma said, voice steady but strained. “She made a choice none of us could’ve made in that moment. Euijoo is alive because of it.”
“And the war is worse because of it,” Harua said flatly, not looking up from his work.
“Do you guys really not see why—“ Nova started. “It doesn’t matter,” K snapped. “Decisions like that don’t get made alone.”
Nova’s hands curled into fists. Magic prickled under her skin, angry, volatile. “You think I wanted that choice?” she demanded. “You think I don’t understand what I just set in motion?”
“Then why?” Yuma pressed. “Why did you think you had the right?”
Because your Alpha would have died. Because absolute magic is never kind. Because if I’d acted without restraint, you’d be burying half this pack. Because he is—
She stopped.
Hard.
Nova swallowed, forcing the words back down before they could destroy everything.
“Because magic like mine doesn’t work the way you think it does,” she said instead, voice tight but controlled. “I can’t shield one life without annihilating everything around it. Protection isn’t delicate. It’s absolute. If I had intervened directly—”
She gestured vaguely, helplessly. “—this den wouldn’t exist. The coast wouldn’t exist. Maybe you wouldn’t exist.”
Silence followed. Heavy. Unforgiving.
“That still doesn’t explain why you decided alone,” K said.
Nova laughed once, sharp and humourless. “Because there was no time to debate philosophy while your Alpha was bleeding out in chains.”
Harua stood abruptly, rounding on her at last. “You don’t get to decide the cost for us,” he said, voice flat. “Not like that.”
The words landed clean. Nova flinched.
Fuma stepped between them instinctively. “Harua—”
“No.” Harua’s eyes never left her.
Nova stared at him, something fragile cracking behind her eyes.
Harua turned back to him immediately.
And Nova—Nova took a step back.
Not in fear.
In restraint.
Euijoo dreams in silver.
Not sleep—suspension. Weightless, breathless, caught between pain and forgetting. His body is distant, muffled beneath layers of fur and blood and healing magic he can feel working but cannot guide.
Light.
Moonlight spills across an endless clearing, pale and cold, illuminating stone worn smooth by centuries of knees and prayers. He knows this place instantly.
The sacred site. The den’s prayer ground.
His chest tightens.
Someone is already there.
Nova stands at the centre of the stone circle.
Not smiling. Not laughing. Not radiant with careless power.
She looks… smaller.
Her blue hair hangs loose around her shoulders, duller in the moonlight, as if even it has been drained. Her hands are clenched at her sides, trembling—not with magic, but restraint. Ink-black power coils around her feet like a restless tide, restrained, contained with effort.
She does not kneel. But she stands very still.
“Talk.” she demands into the empty night, voice low and rough. “Is this what you fucking wanted?”
Euijoo tries to step forward.
He can’t.
The moon hangs low above them, a thin crescent carved sharp against the sky. Watching.
Nova laughs softly, bitter. “I didn’t ask for faith. I didn’t ask for fate. I didn’t ask to be responsible for him.”
Her voice cracks. Just barely.
“I did what I had to,” she whispers. “And they hate me for it.” The air trembles. Moonlight sharpens.
Nova lifts her face—not pleading, not reverent—but furious and exhausted.
“If you’re so powerful,” she says, voice shaking now, “why do you never bleed for them?”
“You know what? If you’re as powerful as they keep saying you are, why don’t you come down here and show me?” Nova seethes, “You scared? Are you scared of a warlock?”
The moonlight flickers. Stone beneath her feet hums — warning, not threat. “I said come down here and FIGHT ME!”
Euijoo’s breath stutters.
The moon does not answer her.
Instead—
The world fractures. The vision snaps sideways like glass breaking.
Euijoo is no longer at the prayer site.
He is in the den.
Or what remains of it.
The pack is scattered, fractured—not physically, but in spirit. Wolves sit apart instead of together. Fuma stands rigid near the center, jaw tight, voice raised as he argues with Harua.
“You don’t get to blame her alone,” Fuma snaps.
“She didn’t have the right,” Harua fires back, hands shaking, stained red. “None of this should have happened.”
“She saved him!”
“And doomed us later!”
“So you would sacrifice your alpha?”
“I’m saying the decision should have been ours. What makes her think that the decision was up to her?”
Yuma watches from the shadows, calculating, worried. Maki sits curled in on himself, ears flat, staring at the ground. K paces like a caged thing, rage simmering beneath every step.
No Alpha. No center. No certainty.
Euijoo feels it then—the absence.
Not death. Something worse. Leadership without him.
The moonlight floods the den now, too bright, too sharp. The crescent above swells larger, looming.
A voice finally speaks. Not kind Not cruel. Ancient.
You cannot die.
The words do not echo—they settle into him, heavy and absolute.
Your pack fractures without you. Your mate fractures without you.
The vision shifts again.
Back to Nova.
She has turned away from the moon now, shoulders hunched, one hand pressed hard over her chest as if holding something together. She looks… furious at herself.
“Don’t,” she says again, but softer now. “Don’t make me care if you’re not going to protect him.”
The moon’s light sharpens until it burns.
Euijoo feels urgency slam into him like a heartbeat restarting.
Do not give up. Your work is not done here.
The light collapses inward.
Nova looks up suddenly—straight at him.
Not seeing him. Feeling him.
Her expression shifts—fear, relief, anger, something unspoken.
Euijoo gasps awake.
Air tears into his lungs like a blade.
Pain explodes through his body—but beneath it, beneath the blood and wounds and healing magic, something else burns bright and undeniable.
Purpose. The Moon has spoken.
And this time—
She showed him exactly what would break if he didn’t survive.
Pain.
Not the blinding kind — the deep, aching throb of a body that survived something it shouldn’t have. Every breath pulls at half-healed wounds. His limbs feel heavy, distant. The den smells of blood, herbs, ash… and tension.
Voices hush the moment he stirs.
“Euijoo—”
He lifts a hand weakly. Silence falls immediately.
His gaze sweeps the room, sharp even through the haze. He sees it at once — the way the pack stands apart instead of together. The tightness in Fuma’s jaw. Harua’s rigid stillness. K pacing like a storm barely contained.
Nova.
She stands near the edge of the den, arms folded, posture deceptively casual. No smile. No jokes. Her blue hair is pulled back, neat, controlled. Her face is calm.
Her eyes are not.
Red-rimmed. Tired. Guarded.
Something in his chest twists — not pain. Recognition.
“Leave us,” Euijoo says hoarsely.
No one moves.
His gaze hardens just enough. “That wasn’t a request.”
“You might want to hear what she did before you go thanking her.” Harua mumbled before heading straight for the door.
The pack hesitates — then slowly disperses. Fuma lingers a heartbeat longer, meeting Nova’s eyes with something like apology, before turning away.
The den empties.
The silence that follows is thick.
Nova doesn’t look at him at first.
“I assume,” she says lightly, voice steady, “that once you’re strong enough to stand, you’ll want answers.”
Euijoo pushes himself upright with effort, jaw clenched. “Now is fine.”
That makes her glance at him — sharp, assessing. Then she nods once.
“Good,” she says. “I won’t insult you by pretending it was an easy choice.”
She steps closer, stopping just out of reach.
“I could’ve done worse,” she continues calmly. “Much worse. I could’ve given them dominion over tides. Regeneration. The ability to erase minds. I could’ve unmade the coastline to free you.”
Her fingers curl slightly at her sides. “I didn’t.”
Euijoo listens. Doesn’t interrupt.
“The Leviathians asked for something in exchange for you. Your pack was outnumbered and I… I cannot shield just one person” Her voice tightens — just a fraction. “When they surrounded you and threatened to end you, and everyone looking at me to fix it, I had seconds to decide.”
She exhales. “I let them have shapeshifting because it’s limited, sun-bound. Pain-bound. Consequence-heavy. They gain infiltration, — nothing more. No unity. No endurance. No loyalty.” Her mouth tightens. “And every time they use it, it will hurt. Just like how they hurt you.”
She finally looks at him fully. “I chose the option that bled them slowly instead of bleeding the world all at once. I won’t beg you to try to understand but I promise you, this was the best solution.”
A beat. “And because,” she adds more quietly, “you were dying.”
Her composure never breaks — but her eyes shine dangerously. “I won’t lie to you,” Nova says. “Your pack hates the decision. Some of them hate me. I expected that.” A faint, bitter smile. “I won’t blame you if you feel the same way.”
Euijoo’s brow furrows. “Why?”
“Because that’s what always happens,” she answers simply. “People love what I can do until they see the cost. Then they decide I should’ve been wiser. Kinder. More self-sacrificing.”
“If you want to sever the bond,” she shrugs. “I figured… Alpha first. Faith first. Pack first.”
Her chin lifts a fraction — defiant even now. “I wouldn’t blame you.”
That — that’s what finally cracks him.
Euijoo stares at her, something raw tightening behind his ribs. “You thought I’d cast you out?”
She hesitates, then nods faintly. “Considering your pack’s reaction? I thought you’d do what you always do.” Her voice softens. “Carry the world on your shoulders… and decide I was too dangerous to stand beside you.”
Silence stretches.
Then Euijoo speaks, voice low and steady. “You saved my life.”
Nova blinks.
“You saved my pack,” he continues. “You chose restraint when annihilation would’ve been easier. You accepted hatred so others could live.”
He meets her gaze fully now.
“That is not something I punish.”
Her breath catches — just barely.
“Please forgive my pack,” Euijoo adds, catching his breath through the pain. “They should not have treated you that way. I will correct this.” His eyes don’t waver. “You did what you believed was best. For that, I am grateful.”
A long pause.
“I saw you,” he adds quietly.
Nova stiffens. “Saw me?”
“In my dream,” he says. “At the prayer site.”
Her face drains of colour.
“You weren’t kneeling,” Euijoo continues. “You were standing. Furious. Tired. Still holding everything together.”
He swallows.
“You don’t answer to gods,” he says. “But you stayed anyway. For us.”
Nova looks away sharply.
For a moment, she says nothing.
Then, very carefully, she replies, “I didn’t want to care.”
Her voice is steady — but her eyes burn.
“I’ve been alone a long time,” she admits. “People want what I can do. Or they fear it. This—” she gestures vaguely around the den, “—this felt like a family.” Her jaw tightens. “I didn’t realise how much until I thought I’d lost it.”
Euijoo shifts closer, slow and deliberate despite the pain. “You didn’t lose it,” he says.
She scoffs softly. “Your pack would disagree.”
“They’re angry,” he corrects. “They’re scared. And they needed someone to blame.” His gaze sharpens. “That does not make them right.”
Nova finally looks back at him — really looks. “You’re not angry,” she says, almost disbelieving.
“I am,” Euijoo answers. “At the Moon. At myself. At a world that keeps demanding sacrifice.”
He pauses. “Not at you.”
Something in Nova finally gives.
She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t collapse.
But her shoulders sag — just a little — like someone setting down a weight they’d been carrying alone.
“I didn’t do it expecting gratitude,” she says quietly.
“I know,” Euijoo replies. “You did it expecting consequences.”
He reaches out, careful, and takes her hand. The bond hums — warm, steady, unbroken.
“You’re not a weapon,” he says. “And you’re not alone.”
Nova closes her eyes briefly.
When she opens them again, they’re still red — but steadier.
“…You’re going to be a problem,” she murmurs.
Euijoo exhales a breath that’s almost a laugh.
“So I’ve been told.”
The silence doesn’t last long. Euijoo straightens where he sits, jaw tightening—not in pain this time, but resolve.
“Bring them back,” he says.
Nova hesitates. “You don’t have to do this now—”
“I do,” he replies. “Before anger turns into rot.”
She nods once.
Magic hums low through the den, familiar and precise. Footsteps echo moments later as the pack filters back in—uneasy, wary, bristling. No one meets Nova’s eyes. Several don’t meet his.
Euijoo waits until they’re all there. Then he bows his head.
The room stills.
“I failed you.” The words land like a stone dropped into water. “I misread the Moon’s warnings,” he continues, voice steady despite the tension pulling at his ribs. “I trusted prophecy over people. Faith over instinct. I relied on answers from above when I should have relied on the wolves standing beside me.”
A murmur ripples through the pack.
“That failure put me in chains. It put Nova in an impossible position.” His gaze sharpens. “And it nearly got me killed.”
Fuma’s breath hitches. Harua stiffens.
“The choice she made was not hers alone,” Euijoo says. “It was mine. I am the Alpha. The consequences of that decision fall on me.” He lifts his head.
“Nova did not act recklessly. She acted with restraint.” His voice hardens. “Something I did not do.”
K growls under his breath. “She still gave them an edge.”
“Yes,” Euijoo agrees. “And I would choose that edge again over a world drowned in blood.”
Silence.
“Nova had seconds,” he continues. “Seconds while I was bleeding out. Seconds while you were surrounded. She chose the option with limits. With pain. With consequences.” His gaze sweeps the room. “She chose the option that hurt our enemy instead of empowering them endlessly.” He pauses. “And you needed someone to blame.”
No one argues.
Euijoo exhales slowly. “That blame belongs to me.”
The pack shifts, uneasy.
“There’s something else you deserve to know,” he says quietly. Nova stiffens beside him. “I found my mate.”
The den freezes.
Nova turns sharply toward him. “Euijoo—”
He reaches for her hand, grounding, deliberate. “It’s time.”
His gaze lifts, unwavering. “My mate is Nova.”
The reaction is immediate.
“What—” “That explains—” “Of course it is—”
“I knew it!” Yuma blurts suddenly, pointing like he’s solved a riddle. “I told you all something was off—”
“You know nothing,” Taki snaps, cutting him off. “You think knowing and assuming are the same thing—”
“Am I wrong?” “Yes!”
Their bickering breaks the tension just enough for breath to return to the room.
Euijoo lets it happen for a moment—then clears his throat.
Silence snaps back into place.
“I should have trusted my mate,” he says. “I should have trusted my pack. I won’t make that mistake again.”
His gaze is fierce now. Certain. “If you have anger,” he continues, “direct it at me. But you will not treat my mate as an enemy.”
A beat.
“Nor as a weapon.”
Nova swallows, jaw tight, eyes burning—but she doesn’t look away.
She doesn’t notice them at first.
She’s seated on a low stone near the den wall, palms resting on her knees, magic finally quiet beneath her skin. For the first time since the coast, she lets herself breathe.
Footsteps approach.
Two sets.
She looks up.
K stands rigid, arms crossed, jaw set like he’s bracing for a blow. Harua lingers a half-step behind him, hands tucked into his sleeves — not defensive.
Nervous.
Nova straightens subtly.
“If you’re here to argue,” she says evenly, “I don’t have the energy.”
K exhales sharply through his nose. ”We’re not.”
That alone is an apology coming from him — but he doesn’t stop there.
“I was out of line,” K says, blunt and unpolished. “I don’t trust easily. And when I’m scared, I bite. And for that, I’m sorry.”
Nova’s brows lift slightly.
“You weren’t wrong to be angry,” she replies.
“I was.” K nods once. “This war is breaking us apart, I can’t even think straight. I just felt anger and directed it towards you when you’ve just been trying to help us all along.”
He hesitates, then adds, quieter, “We don’t want to use you. Or cage you. Or turn you into something we point at problems.”
His gaze finally meets hers. “And I sure as hell don’t want you thinking that’s how we see you.”
Something in Nova’s chest loosens — not fully, but enough to breathe. “Thank you.”
K jerks his chin toward Harua. “Enough from me. He’s the one who needs to talk.”
Then, mercifully, he steps away.
Harua waits until K is out of earshot.
Then he bows his head — not formally, but sincerely.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “For whatever I said. For how I said it. I was angry… but that wasn’t what it was really about.”
Nova studies him. “Then what was it?”
He swallows. “I couldn’t heal him,” Harua admits. “I couldn’t heal K. I couldn’t heal Euijoo. I watched my Alpha bleed out, watched my pack get torn apart, and all I could do was slow the dying.”
His hands tremble, just slightly. “I’m the healer,” he says. “That’s my role. And in that moment, I wasn’t enough.”
The words come out raw. Unpolished.
“The war scares me,” he continues. “Not because of what I might lose — but because I’m terrified I won’t be strong enough to keep them alive.”
Silence stretches between them.
Then Nova sits beside him. Not touching. Just present.
“Healing,” she says softly, “isn’t about fixing everything.”
Harua lets out a humourless breath. “That’s easy to say when you can bend reality.”
Nova huffs. “I can’t heal the way you do. I can’t mend flesh without consequence. You keep people alive in the quiet moments. That matters more than miracles.”
He looks at her, surprised.
“I’ll teach you what I know,” she continues. “Ancient methods. Energy transfer. Binding life instead of forcing it.”
His eyes brighten despite himself.
“But,” she adds, “there are things I can’t teach.”
Harua tilts his head. “Like what?”
“Potions. Alchemy. Healing that works when magic is depleted or too dangerous to use.” She hesitates. “I know someone. Old blood. Very opinionated. She hates war but prepares for it anyway.”
A beat.
“She’d like you,” Nova adds dryly. “Which means she’ll be cruel to you for at least six months.”
Harua laughs — small, startled, real.
“I’d like that,” he says. Then, softer: “Friends?”
Nova smiles — just a little.
“Friends.”
A loud clanging interrupts their moment which makes the two friends turn.
“Absolutely not! Euijo—”
Euijoo is halfway into the den, limping badly, one arm slung over Fuma’s shoulders. His hair is loose, eyes bright with stubborn determination.
“You are not walking,” Fuma hisses. “You nearly died.”
“I lived,” Euijoo counters, waving him off. “That means I get opinions.”
Nova’s expression shifts instantly. Alarmed. Exasperated. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
He grins at her — crooked, unapologetic, entirely un-Alpha-like. “I’m supposed to talk to my mate.”
Fuma groans. “I hate this.”
Harua clears his throat, already retreating. “I’ll… give you space.”
Fuma glares at Euijoo. “Five minutes.”
Euijoo doesn’t even pretend to listen.
As soon as they’re alone, his shoulders sag — the weight of command slipping away.
“You didn’t have to interrupt,” she mutters, half-amused, half-exhausted. “We were having a very serious healer bonding moment.”
Euijoo huffs — the sound low, almost shy. “I’m offended I wasn’t invited.”
She turns toward him fully now.
Up close, he looks worse.
Too pale beneath his tan. Healing scars still faintly luminous against his skin. One hand braced against the wall like he doesn’t quite trust his legs yet. And yet, dashing as ever.
Her instinct flares — not magic, just care.
“You should be lying down,” she says, softer this time.
“I know,” he admits. Then, quieter: “But I didn’t want to be alone.”
The honesty lands heavier than any grand declaration.
Nova doesn’t tease him for it.
She steps closer and, without asking, slips under his arm, letting his weight settle against her side. Carefully. Deliberately.
Euijoo freezes for half a second.
Then he exhales — long, slow — and lets himself lean.
Not collapsing. Not clinging. Just… resting.
“I’m supposed to be stronger than this,” he murmurs, forehead tipping forward until it brushes her temple.
Nova snorts. “Says who? The Moon?”
He grimaces. “She’s very opinionated.”
They stand like that for a moment — her steady, him breathing through pain and adrenaline and the aftermath of almost dying.
“I’ve spent my whole life being the one everyone leans on,” Euijoo continues quietly. “Alpha. Protector. Decision-maker. If I falter, the pack feels it.”
Nova hums thoughtfully. “Sounds lonely.”
“It is.” The word surprises him as soon as it leaves his mouth.
Nova doesn’t comment on it. She just tightens her arm around his waist a fraction.
“I didn’t know how to let someone stand beside me,” he admits. “Especially not someone like you.”
She tilts her head. “Someone like me?”
“Powerful,” he says honestly. “Unapologetic. Unwilling to shrink.”
A pause.
“I thought if I didn’t stay ahead of you, I’d lose control.”
Nova raises a brow. “And now?”
He lets out a quiet laugh — breathy, self-aware. “Now I realise control was never the point. Trust was.”
She studies his face, searching for deflection.
There is none.
“That’s new for you,” she says gently.
He nods. “I had a lot of wrong ideas. About strength. About leadership. About women.”
She smirks. “You were kind of a caveman when we met.”
“I was,” he agrees readily. “And you didn’t let me get away with it.”
“No,” she says sweetly. “I really didn’t.”
Another quiet beat.
“You scare me,” Euijoo admits suddenly.
Nova blinks. “That’s romantic.”
He smiles faintly. “You challenge me. You don’t need my permission. You don’t orbit me. And instead of feeling threatened by that…”
His voice drops. “I feel… relieved.”
Nova’s expression softens.
“I don’t want to be carried,” she says. “And I don’t want to carry you.”
“I know,” he replies. “I want to walk with you.”
Euijoo shifts, turning slightly so he can look at her properly. His hand hesitates before resting at her waist — a question, not a claim.
She doesn’t move away.
“Nova,” he says quietly, “I don’t need you to make me stronger.”
She meets his gaze, eyes sharp but kind. “Good,” she replies. “Because I don’t date projects.”
He laughs — real this time — then winces immediately.
She rolls her eyes. “Idiot.” But she stays right there, holding him steady as he recovers.
Euijoo exhales slowly against her temple.
For a few precious seconds, the world is quiet. No pack. No gods. No war.
Then he coughs.
It’s sharp, sudden — he turns his head instinctively, trying to spare her the worst of it, but it still racks through his chest. He grimaces immediately after, breath stuttering.
“Sorry,” he mutters, embarrassed. “I keep ruining moments today.”
Nova frowns, already steadying him again. “You nearly died. You’re allowed to be inconvenient.”
He huffs weakly at that, then sobers. “There’s something I need to ask you,” he says. His tone shifts — not Alpha-commanding, but earnest. “The war. What happens now?”
Nova goes still. Not stiff. Not guarded.
Just… honest.
“I don’t know,” she says quietly.
Euijoo searches her face. “You don’t?”
“No,” she admits. “The Shattersea is already shifting. The Leviathians will test their new gift. They always do. And the Moon…” She exhales through her nose. “Well, I guess she’s watching.”
His jaw tightens. “So we prepare blind.”
“Yes.”
A beat.
Then she meets his gaze fully, unwavering. “But you won’t be doing it alone.” Something in his chest loosens at that — a knot he didn’t realise he’d been carrying. “You’re staying,” he says. Not a question.
Nova tilts her head, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. “Try getting rid of me.”
He chuckles, then winces again.
“Gods,” he mutters. “Worth it.”
She studies him for a moment — the pain he’s pretending not to feel, the exhaustion etched into his bones, the way he still stands between her and the world by instinct alone.
“Nova,” He says softly.
“Yes?”
“Before everything gets worse,” He continues, “before strategy and sacrifice and destiny rear their ugly heads again…” He trails off.
She swallows, suddenly aware of how close they are. Of how warm he is.
Real. Here.
“May I?” he asks quietly.
The words are careful. Earnest. No claim, no assumption — just consent, plain and simple.
Nova’s brows lift, surprised — then her smile softens into something real.
“Yes,” she says.
That’s all the permission he needs.
He leans in slowly at first, as if giving her time to change her mind — but she doesn’t. Their lips meet gently, tentatively, a question more than an answer.
Then Euijoo sighs into it.
And something snaps into place.
He deepens the kiss instinctively, one hand sliding up to cradle her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek like he’s afraid she’ll disappear. Pain flares through his ribs, his shoulder, everywhere — and he ignores it completely.
Nova responds without hesitation, fingers curling into his shirt, anchoring him. There’s warmth there. Heat. Relief. A promise neither of them speaks aloud.
The bond hums — not loud, not dramatic — just right.
“Ok your 5 minutes is—OH MY GOD—”
A crash.
A yelp.
Something metal clatters violently to the floor.
Euijoo jerks back instinctively, immediately regretting it because pain shoots up his back. Nova spins around.
Fuma stands frozen in the doorway, eyes blown wide, hands full of medical supplies now scattered everywhere.
“I— I DIDN’T MEAN—” he blurts, face turning violently red. “I WAS TRYING TO BE QUIET—”
He trips over a stool. Knocks into the doorframe. Nearly drops a crate on his own foot.
“I’M SORRY— I’M SO SORRY— I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING—”
“Fuma,” Nova says, trying very hard not to laugh.
“I’M LEAVING,” he yells, already halfway out the door. “PLEASE PRETEND I’M DEAD.”
The door slams.
Silence.
Then Nova snorts.
Euijoo groans, dropping his forehead against her shoulder. “I’m never living that down.”
She laughs openly now, soft and warm, wrapping an arm around him again.
“Absolutely not.”
Despite the pain. Despite the war. Despite the gods watching from above—
For this moment, they are just two people choosing each other.
And whatever comes next?
They’ll face it together.
©inkedbysonny
What The Moon Took Back
✐ᝰ word count: 14.3k ✐ᝰ genre: fantasy, romance, angst, slow burn, action, werewolf!k, werewolf!oc, warlock!oc, mythic war ✐ᝰ warnings: graphic violence, blood and injury, war themes, captivity, experimentation, dissociation, trauma recovery, emotional distress, cursing, body horror elements, references to manipulation and loss ✐ᝰ author’s note: dude with every arc, I keep writing more and more lmfao and the word count is getting kinda insane anyways this is k's arc and i knew it would hurt the most to write but!! we’re introduced to a new force that will matter a lot going forward 👀 as always this story can be read standalone, but reading the previous arcs will definitely deepen the emotional and lore payoff. feedback, thoughts, and theories are always welcome <3 enjoy!! ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ links to the other parts of the veilbourne saga: part 1 (jo) | part 2 (nicholas) | part 4 (euijoo) | part 5 (harua) part 6 (yuma) | part 7 (taki) | part 8 (maki) | part 9 (fuma)
Pain had become a constant.
Not sharp. Not sudden.
Just… there. A low, grinding ache that lived in K’s bones, seeped into his muscles, curled around his ribs and refused to let go.
He lay on his side in the den, staring at the stone wall as his body trembled through another failed attempt at healing. His last shift was days ago, but the aftermath still burned beneath his skin — muscles screaming, joints stiff and misaligned, breath shallow like his lungs had forgotten how deep they were supposed to go.
Any other wolf would have been dead by now.
K knew that. The pack knew that. Even the world’s best healers would have known that, though no one ever said it out loud. His body wasn’t meant to endure this much damage without a mate.
Without her.
He swallowed hard, jaw tightening as another wave of pain rolled through him. His claws dug into the furs beneath him, shredding fabric and stone alike, a low, broken sound clawing its way out of his chest before he could stop it.
Still alive, he reminded himself. Still breathing. That had to mean something.
Harua knelt beside him, hands hovering uselessly over K’s torso. A faint glow bloomed between his palms — healing magic, warm and familiar — but the light flickered, unstable, before sputtering out entirely.
Harua’s breath hitched. “…I’m sorry,” he murmured.
K didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. They both knew.
“It’s not taking,” Harua continued quietly, fingers pressing into K’s side where bruising bled deep and dark beneath the skin. “Your body’s trying, but it’s like something’s… missing. Like it doesn’t know how to recover anymore.”
Across the den, Euijoo stood with his arms folded, expression carved from stone. His gaze never left K.
“How long,” the Alpha asked.
Harua hesitated. That was answer enough.
“K shouldn’t be on the frontlines,” Harua said finally. “He shouldn’t be shifting. Hell, he shouldn’t even be walking patrol.”
K scoffed weakly. “I can walk.”
Harua shot him a look. “You drag yourself.”
Silence fell, heavy and suffocating.
Euijoo exhaled through his nose. “You’re grounded,” he said. “Until further notice.”
K forced himself upright, pain flaring violently as his muscles protested the movement. His vision swam, but he stayed on his feet. “No,” he said hoarsely.
Euijoo’s eyes sharpened. “This isn’t a request.”
“I can still serve,” K insisted. “I still—” His voice cracked, just slightly. “I still belong out there.”
Belong. Not here. Not useless. Not waiting.
“You’ll die,” Harua said bluntly.
K met his gaze, something raw and feral flickering beneath the exhaustion. “Not yet.”
Euijoo held his stare for a long moment — then turned away. “Don’t make me regret this,” the Alpha said quietly.
K didn’t wait for permission.
As soon as he left the den, the forest air was cold against his skin, biting in a way that almost felt good. Every step sent pain lancing up his legs, but he welcomed it. Pain meant he was moving. Pain meant he was still here. He followed the familiar patrol path on instinct alone, shoulders hunched, breath ragged. His wolf paced restlessly beneath his skin, weak and restless, aching for something it couldn’t name.
Her. The thought struck him so hard he stumbled.
“She’s gone,” he whispered into the trees. “She has to be.”
Days had bled into each other. No sign. No scent. No pull. Hope was a dangerous thing.
His legs finally gave out beneath him.
K collapsed at the base of an old tree, bark rough against his back as the world tilted violently sideways. He didn’t remember sliding down — only the cold earth against his cheek, the forest spinning, his consciousness slipping like water through his fingers.
Sleep took him before he could fight it.
He knew this dream.
That was the first thing that calmed him.
The forest was too green, too alive — untouched by war or blood or smoke. The air smelled of pine and rain, the ground soft beneath his bare feet. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in gentle, golden streaks. Late summer.
She sat on the fallen log near the stream, boots kicked off, toes dipping lazily into the water. She wore his cloak — his — far too big for her, sleeves swallowed past her hands. She always did that in this dream. “You’re staring,” she said without looking at him.
K huffed out a quiet laugh. “You’re wearing my coat again.”
“Our coat,” she echoed, glancing back at him with a grin. “You let me.” He walked toward her, every step easy. Pain-free. Whole.
“You steal it every time,” he said, dropping down beside her. “I don’t remember agreeing.”
She leaned into him, shoulder bumping his. Warm. Solid. Real.
Her head tipped against his arm, familiar as breathing.
“You like it,” she murmured. “You like when I smell like you.”
He did. Gods, he did.
K slipped an arm around her waist, tugging her closer until her laughter vibrated against his chest. The world felt right here — balanced, quiet, safe. This was always where the dream lingered. The way she fit against him. The way the sun caught in her hair. The way his wolf purred low and content in his chest.
“You’ll stay tonight,” she said.
Always the same line.
“Of course,” he replied — always the same answer.
She turned then, eyes bright, alive, reaching up to press her forehead to his. Their noses brushed. Her breath was warm, familiar. “You promise?”
“I promise,” he said easily.
She smiled — and this was the moment he loved most. The way her smile softened right before she kissed him.
Only… She didn’t kiss him. She pulled back instead.
K frowned. “…Lyra?”
Her smile faltered — just barely — like it was something she had to remember how to wear.
His chest tightened. That wasn’t right.
In the dream, she laughed. She always laughed and teased him for being too serious. She kissed him anyway, stole his promise like it was a game.
“You’re supposed to laugh,” he said, a crease forming between his brows. “You’re supposed to say I’m too dramatic.”
Lyra’s gaze drifted past him — unfocused. “I can’t stay,” she murmured.
Panic snapped through him like lightning.
“No,” he said sharply, gripping her wrist. “That’s not what happens. You stay. You always stay.”
Her skin was warm — but her eyes were distant, hollowed. “I don’t remember how,” she whispered.
The forest dimmed. The stream fell silent.
“Lyra,” K said, voice breaking for the first time. “Look at me.”
She tried. Gods, she tried.
But it was like her gaze slid off him, like he was a shadow she couldn’t quite grasp. “I’m tired,” she said. “Everything feels… far away.”
His grip tightened. “What…. What are you saying? Lyra?”
Her lips parted — then she shook her head slowly. “You weren’t supposed to see this part.”
“Lyra?” He said with more panic in his voice this time.
The dream fractured.
The sunlight drained from the trees. The warmth bled away. The forest rotted at the edges, colours leeching into grey. Lyra stepped back.
“No,” K snarled, fear ripping through his chest. “Don’t do this. Don’t leave me again.”
“I never wanted to,” she said softly — and for just a moment, her eyes cleared. She looked at him like she used to. Like she loved him.
Then her form began to blur. “Find me,” she whispered. “Before I forget.”
“LYRA—”
His hand closed on empty air.
K woke with a violent gasp, claws digging into dirt, chest heaving like he’d been dragged from deep water. The forest loomed around him — cold, dark, real. His heart hammered painfully against his ribs.
The dream was wrong. Not just a memory. A warning. Lyra was alive. And something was breaking her.
K lurched upright with a strangled breath, claws digging into the damp earth beneath him. Pain detonated through his ribs, sharp and blinding, stealing the air from his lungs. For a heartbeat he couldn’t tell where he was — forest or dream, past or present — only that the ache in his chest was real, pulsing, unforgiving.
Moonlight filtered through the canopy above. Too high. Too bright.
He blinked hard, breath coming shallow, uneven. The last thing he remembered was the sun hanging low through the trees, gold spilling across the forest floor as he’d dragged himself farther than he should have. Now the shadows were long and cold, silvered by the moon.
How long was I out?
The thought barely formed before panic followed. “Lyra,” he rasped, the name tearing out of him like a wound reopening.
He forced himself to his feet. His leg buckled immediately, a jolt of agony ripping through his hip and down his spine. K snarled, catching himself against the trunk of the tree, vision swimming. His body screamed at him to stop — bones still knitting wrong, muscle slow and weak, healing stunted by the hollow ache where his mate should have been.
Any other wolf would have collapsed. He didn’t.
He staggered forward instead, breaking into a run that was more stumble than sprint, boots skidding over roots and stones as he pushed through the forest. Each breath burned. Each step sent fresh pain lancing through him. He could feel it — the way his body lagged, the way his wolf refused to fully surface when he tried to call on it.
She’s alive.
The certainty steadied him more than any healing ever could.
Branches clawed at his arms. Thorns tore at his clothes. Somewhere behind him, an owl startled into flight. The forest watched him pass, silent and knowing. Wolves were creatures of the moon, of signs and omens — and this? This was no coincidence.
The dream had never changed before.
Always the same clearing. The same laugh. Lyra turning toward him, eyes bright, alive, reaching— Except this time, she hadn’t reached back. She’d looked past him.
Fear spiked, sharp and cold, and K forced himself faster, teeth gritted hard enough his jaw ached. The den lights came into view through the trees — low, steady glows carved into stone and earth. Relief flared briefly before something else twisted in his gut.
The air felt wrong. Too still. No howls. No raised voices. No frantic movement.His pace faltered as he broke through the treeline.
Torches burned at the den’s entrance, steady and controlled — not defensive. Wolves stood guard, but none were shifted. None bristled. None moved to intercept him.
“K?” Maki started, eyes widening as they took in his state. “You weren’t back from patrol—”
“Lyra,” K cut in hoarsely. “She’s alive. I know she is. The dream—”
He stopped short. The scent hit him first.
Brine. Rot. Something old and wrong, crawling up his spine like ice.
K’s head snapped up.
They weren’t alone.
Figures stood just beyond the wardline — tall, wrong-shaped, wrapped in cloaks that shimmered like wet shadows. Their presence pressed against the air, heavy and suffocating, making his wolf recoil instinctively.
Leviathians.
His heart slammed violently against his ribs. Rage surged, hot and immediate, drowning out the pain as his hands curled into claws.
Shift. his wolf screamed. Kill.
K tried. The shift tore halfway through him before it collapsed, agony ripping through his spine as his body rejected it. He gasped, staggering, vision blurring. A hand caught his arm, steadying him.
“K,” Euijoo said sharply. “Don’t.”
Don’t?
K ripped his arm free, eyes wild. “What are they doing here?”
Around them, the pack stood calm — tense, yes, but controlled. Harua hovered close, worry etched deep into his face. Fuma’s arms were crossed, jaw tight. None of them were shifted. None of them were attacking.
“They came to talk,” Euijoo said after a long silence. The words didn’t make sense.
K’s gaze snapped back to the Leviathians. One of them stepped forward, its movement unnervingly smooth. When it spoke, the sound was wrong — too precise, too deliberate, stitched together from something it should never have learned.
“We have something you lost,” it said.
K’s breath hitched violently. From behind the Leviathian, another figure was dragged forward — smaller, limp, cloaked in shadow. His heart shattered.
“Lyra,” he whispered.
She didn’t look up.
The Leviathian’s mouth curved, imitation of a smile. “Your mate lives. Her pack does not.”
K surged forward again, pain forgotten, vision tunneling. “Let her go!”
“You can have her,” the creature said calmly. “Species for species.”
K froze.
“The humans,” it continued, voice smooth, almost conversational. “The village beside the forest. Give them to us. And she is yours.”
K’s knees nearly gave out beneath him, the weight of it crushing, unbearable. Around him, the pack tensed, the air thick with restrained fury — but no one moved.
Lyra’s head lifted then. Just slightly. Her eyes met his.
They were dull. Distant. Empty of the fire he remembered.
Something inside K broke completely. She’s alive, his heart screamed.
The Leviathians didn’t flinch under the pack’s collective glare.
It stood there as if it belonged, as if the den was merely another conquered shoreline, its presence fouling the air with salt and rot. Lyra remained half-supported behind it, her weight slack, eyes unfocused. She didn’t struggle.
That was what hurt most. Euijoo stepped forward. Not aggressively. Not defensively. Deliberately.
“You say you have her,” the Alpha said, voice even, ironed flat by restraint. “You say we can take her back. But you don’t say what happens to the humans if we don’t.”
One Leviathian tilted its head, too curious, too knowing.
“We continue,” it replied. “As we have begun.”
Fuma’s claws flexed audibly at his side. “Continue what,” Euijoo pressed, eyes sharp. “Speak plainly.”
The Leviathian’s mouth moved again, stretching around words it had learned far too well.
“We take them. One settlement at a time. One species at a time. They are… adaptable.” A pause. Almost thoughtful. “Their bodies are easy. Their minds? Even easier.”
K made a sound — low, broken, feral — and took a step forward before Harua caught him, hands tightening around his arm.
“You take them over,” Euijoo said quietly.
“Yes.”
“And after the humans?”
The Leviathian’s gaze flicked, briefly, toward the wolves.
“Eventually.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Euijoo didn’t bare his teeth. Didn’t growl. But something ancient and dangerous coiled beneath his skin.
“You think we’d trade one people for another,” he said. “You think we’d offer innocents to save one of our own.”
“You already chose,” the Leviathian replied smoothly, gesturing toward Lyra. “You always do. The pack or the rest of the world.”
K tore free then. “Stop,” he snarled, staggering forward despite Harua’s grip. “Don’t talk about her like she’s leverage. She’s not—” His voice cracked violently. “She’s not a number.”
The Leviathian regarded him with interest. “She is yours. That gives her value.”
K’s wolf surged, screaming to tear the creature apart, but his body betrayed him — knees buckling, breath ripping from his chest. He barely stayed upright.
Euijoo lifted a hand. “That’s enough.”
The Leviathian inclined its head, as if amused by the restraint.
“You have twenty-four hours,” it said. “When the next moon reaches its highest point. Decide.” It stepped back, their bodies melting into the shores.“If you refuse,” it continued, voice echoing unnaturally, “we begin with the human village. Slowly. Loudly.” Lyra was pulled with it, disappearing into the darkness without a word.
K collapsed to his knees.
The moment the Leviathians vanished beyond the shores, the den erupted. Voices overlapped. Snarls broke free. Claws scraped stone.
“They can’t be trusted,” Fuma snapped, pacing hard enough to crack the floor beneath his boots. “Talking is how they buy time.”
“We have a truce with the Council,” Euijoo shot back. “Fragile as it is. If we make a move on the village—”
“They started this war,” Fuma cut in. “And now they want us to finish it for them.”
“They want us to choose who dies,” Yuma said quietly, horror threaded through his voice.
K pushed himself upright, shaking, eyes burning. “They have her.” The room stilled. “They took her pack,” he said hoarsely. “Everyone she knew. If I don’t do this—” His voice broke completely. “I lose her. For good.”
Nicholas, who had been silent until now, lifted his head. “No.”
All eyes turned to him.
“No,” he repeated, voice low, unyielding. “We are not sacrificing the humans.”
“You don’t get to decide that.” K rounded on him instantly. “Fuck you. This is MY mate, I thought she was dead.”
Nicholas stood. Slow. Controlled. Dangerous. “I do when it’s MY mate they’re threatening next.”
Jo stepped forward, torn. “But K has been suffering for so long—”
“What if it was Syrena?” Nicholas asked, cutting him off. His gaze burned straight into K. “What if they dragged her in here and told you to choose?”
Jo staggered back as if struck. “Watch your mouth.”
Nicholas shoved back harder. “I will not give her to them.”
“And I won’t leave Lyra to die,” K roared, lunging forward. The two collided, snarls ripping free, wolves straining beneath skin as claws scraped and fists flew. The pack surged between them, hauling them apart before blood could spill.
“Enough!” Euijoo’s voice cracked through the chaos, Alpha power slamming down like a physical force.
Silence fell, ragged and trembling.
Euijoo looked around at them — at the fractured lines forming in the den, at the grief, the fury, the impossible choice pressing down on all of them.
“The pack comes first,” he said. “Always. But that doesn’t mean we abandon our morals. Or each other.”
His gaze settled on K. “We will find another way.”
K’s shoulders sagged. “There is no other way.”
Wolves moved in low murmurs, claws scraping stone where there had once been rhythm and trust. Groups clustered too tightly or stood too far apart. No one met anyone’s eyes for long. The bond that had always held them together — instinctual, unquestioned — had thinned to something fragile.
Euijoo felt it like a pressure behind his ribs. He left before it could crush him.
The moon was high when he reached the clearing, pale and full, bathing the forest in silver that should have felt like comfort. It didn’t. It felt like scrutiny.
He stopped at the center of the worn stone circle — not the ceremonial one, not the one used for rites. This one was older. Raw. The place Alphas went when they had no one left to ask.
Euijoo exhaled slowly. Then he dropped to one knee. The ground was cold. He welcomed it. “Enough,” he said into the night.
The word came out rough — not shouted, not whispered. Demanded.
The air shifted. Not wind. Not magic. Presence.
The weight pressed down on his shoulders, heavy as the sky itself. His spine bowed despite himself, teeth grinding as instinct screamed at him to submit.
He didn’t.
“I have carried this pack through blood and famine,” Euijoo said, voice steady even as the pressure increased. “Through exile. Through treaties built on lies. I have never asked for more than you gave.”
The moonlight brightened — not blinding, but sharp.
“Now you place us at the edge of extinction,” he continued. “And you give me no path forward.”
The clearing fell silent.
Then the Moon Goddess answered — not with sound, but with sensation. Cold flooded his veins.
Images flickered behind his eyes: — Wolves turning on wolves — A human village burning — Black water swallowing the shore — A single thread snapping
“My pack is divided,” he said. The admission tasted like ash. “One would trade the humans, he would burn the world before surrendering them. One would sacrifice himself without hesitation.”
Nicholas’s face flashed unbidden. K’s bloodied form followed.
“They will kill each other,” Euijoo said hoarsely. “Not today. Not tomorrow. But soon.”
The pressure eased — just enough for him to breathe.
“You made me Alpha,” he said. “You taught us that the pack comes first. So tell me — what does that mean now?”
The moon dimmed.
For the first time in his life, Euijoo felt something dangerous ripple through the bond between Alpha and Goddess.
Hesitation. Then the truth came — heavy, unadorned. There is no choice without loss.
His jaw clenched. “I know that,” he snarled. “I am asking which loss won’t damn us.” Silence stretched.
Then — something else. Not warmth. Not blessing. A fracture. A sense of something outside the Moon’s reach brushing against the edge of her domain.
Euijoo’s breath hitched.
“You would have me break your laws,” he said slowly.
The Goddess did not deny it.
Instead, a single image formed — indistinct, unfinished:
A figure standing between worlds. Blue hair. Power that did not answer to the moon.
Euijoo’s heart slammed. “A warlock,” he whispered.
The pressure snapped back into place instantly — warning, sharp and absolute.
They do not belong to me.
“Neither do Leviathians,” Euijoo shot back. “And yet they walk this land.”
The clearing trembled.
You ask for salvation, the Goddess replied, her presence tightening like a snare. But salvation is not clean.
Euijoo bowed his head, breath shaking.
“I am not asking for clean,” he said. “I am asking for what will keep everyone alive.”
The moonlight receded slightly — not retreating, but conceding.
Then you must accept what follows.
“What follows?” Euijoo demanded.
No answer.
Only the lingering weight of inevitability.
When the presence finally withdrew, Euijoo remained kneeling long after the forest returned to sound. Crickets. Wind. Life continuing as if nothing had shifted.
But everything had.
He stood slowly, joints aching, chest heavy.
A warlock.
A divided pack.
A war he could not outrun.
Euijoo looked back toward the den — toward his brothers, his responsibility, his impossible choices.
“One wrong move,” he murmured, more to himself than the night, “and we devour each other.”
The moon did not disagree.
Euijoo returned to the den before dawn.
The fire pits had burned low, embers glowing faintly beneath ash. Wolves lay scattered where exhaustion had finally won — not sleeping so much as waiting. The den smelled of blood, salt, and unease.
Every head lifted when he entered.
Euijoo did not address them. Not yet.
“Yuma,” he said instead.
The wolf in question startled — then straightened, blinking. Yuma was young, too sharp-eyed for his own good, always lingering where he shouldn’t be. The kind of wolf who knew things without ever being told.
“Uh— yeah?” he said. “What’s wrong?”
Euijoo’s gaze pinned him in place.
“What do you know about warlocks?”
The den went still.
Fuma’s head snapped up instantly. “Euijoo?”
Euijoo didn’t look at him.
Yuma swallowed. “You mean— like— actual warlocks?”
“Yes.”
“Not hedge witches. Not Council-sanctioned seers. Warlocks,” Euijoo clarified. “The kind that don’t answer to the Moon.”
A ripple of unease moved through the pack.
Yuma hesitated — then sighed, shoulders slumping like he’d been waiting for this question his whole life.
“I know they’re real,” he said quietly. “And I know we’re not supposed to talk about them.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Yuma glanced around, then leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “There are stories. Old ones. Packs that survived extinction-level events didn’t do it alone. They broke rules.”
Fuma stepped closer now, looming just behind Euijoo’s shoulder. Protective. Suspicious.
“Go on,” Fuma said.
Yuma licked his lips. “There’s a place. North of the Blackwater cliffs. Ruins the Council sealed generations ago. People say… if you go looking with the right reason, something answers.”
Euijoo’s jaw tightened. “Something?”
“A warlock,” Yuma corrected. “Or what’s left of one.”
“How powerful?” Euijoo asked.
Yuma didn’t hesitate this time. “Powerful enough.”
That earned his full attention.
Fuma exhaled slowly. “You’re not going alone.”
“I didn’t say I was going.”
“You were thinking it,” Fuma shot back. “Don’t insult me.”
Euijoo finally turned to face him. Their bond hummed — strained, but intact.
“We have twenty-four hours,” Euijoo said. “Leviathians don’t bluff. They want the human village. And if they get it—”
“They won’t stop,” Fuma finished. “I know.”
“The pack is split,” Euijoo admitted. “Nicholas won’t sacrifice Ruby. K won’t leave Lyra. Others are already thinking about taking sides at any cost.”
Fuma’s voice dropped. “And what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking,” he said carefully, “that if I choose wrong, I lose all of them.”
Fuma studied him for a long moment — then nodded once. “Then you don’t choose alone.”
Euijoo turned to the pack, voice carrying.
“Listen up.”
Wolves gathered instinctively. Even the ones bristling with resentment. Even Nicholas, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Even K, pale, barely upright, eyes burning.
Euijoo stepped forward.
“There is a solution,” he said. “It is not clean. It is not safe. And I won’t pretend to know how it ends.”
That honesty startled them more than reassurance ever could.
“But it is the only path that does not demand sacrifice upfront,” he continued. “I am asking for your trust.”
Murmurs again. Uneasy. Fearful.
“We are going to seek the help of a warlock.” He scanned the room for reactions.
“Warlocks are forbidden,” “This is Moon-blasphemy—” “What if it turns on us?”
Euijoo lifted his chin. “Then I will take responsibility.”
Silence.
“I will not trade the humans,” he said firmly. “I will not abandon Lyra. And I will not fracture this pack by pretending we can survive by choosing ourselves over each other.”
His gaze swept the den.
“Give me time,” he said. “Give me trust as your alpha.”
No one spoke.
Nicholas finally stepped forward, jaw tight. “If this costs Ruby—”
“It won’t,” Euijoo said instantly. “Not without me standing in front of her first.”
K’s hands trembled at his sides. “And if it’s a lie?”
Euijoo met his eyes. “Then we burn that bridge together.”
The pack exchanged looks. Fear. Hope. Loyalty tangled too tightly to separate.
Finally, Fuma crossed his arms. “I’m in.”
One by one, others followed.
Not united.
But not broken.
Euijoo nodded once.
Inside, doubt gnawed at him like rot.
He didn’t know if this was right. He didn’t know if the Goddess would forgive him. He didn’t know if the warlock would even help.
But the pack was still standing.
And for now, that was enough.
They didn’t wait for daylight.
Nine wolves moved through the trees in a tight formation, breath fogging the cold air, boots silent against frostbitten earth. No one spoke at first. Not because there was nothing to say — but because too much had already been said.
Nicholas walked near the front. K took the rear.
The space between them was deliberate.
It wasn’t hostility in the obvious sense — no bared teeth, no snarls — but the absence of acknowledgment was louder than any argument. When Nicholas slowed, K did not close the gap. When K faltered, Nicholas did not look back.
The others pretended not to notice.
Yuma, of course, noticed everything.
“If we keep east for another hour,” he said casually, breaking the silence, “we can cut into a fae trading trail.”
Fuma glanced over his shoulder. “You’re joking.”
“I never joke about shortcuts,” Yuma replied. “Fae caravans use them to avoid Council patrols. The land bends there. Distance doesn’t behave properly.”
Euijoo’s ears twitched. “You’ve walked these paths?”
“I’ve listened,” Yuma said lightly. “And I might… know someone who owes me a favour.”
Nicholas’s tone was flat. “Fae favours always cost more than they say.”
“True,” Yuma agreed. “But time is more expensive right now.”
That, at least, no one argued with.
They adjusted course without ceremony.
As the forest subtly changed — trees thinning, shadows stretching at strange angles — Yuma fell into step beside Euijoo, voice dropping.
“You should know something about the warlock,” he said.
Euijoo didn’t look at him. “Speak.”
“The last of the Win line,” Yuma continued. “Blackwater-born. Old blood. The kind the Council erased from records instead of killing outright because they were afraid of what retaliation would look like.”
Euijoo slowed, just slightly. “You’re certain?”
Yuma nodded. “Certain enough to know Win as family name was spoken like a curse.”
“And his power?”
Yuma hesitated.
“That kind that doesn’t announce itself,” he said carefully. “The kind that changes outcomes quietly. Permanently.”
They walked a few steps in silence.
Then Yuma added, far too casually, “Also she’s a girl.”
Euijoo stopped.
The pack halted instinctively, tension snapping tight.
“A girl,” Euijoo repeated.
“Yes.”
Nicholas turned, brow furrowing. K lifted his head sharply.
Euijoo’s jaw tightened. “You’re telling me the Council buried an entire bloodline — feared a single survivor — and she’s—”
“Female?” Yuma finished. “Yes.”
“That’s—” Euijoo exhaled sharply. “Unlikely.”
Yuma studied him, expression unreadable. “So was a Siren bonding with a wolf.”
The words landed harder than intended.
“I’m not questioning her worth,” he said, too quickly. “I’m questioning—”
“Her capacity?” Yuma tilted his head. “Or your expectations?”
Silence stretched.
Fuma cleared his throat. “We don’t have time for this.”
Euijoo nodded once, forcing his stride forward again. “We proceed. But if this warlock cannot deliver—”
“She will,” Yuma said softly.
That certainty made something uneasy coil in Euijoo’s chest.
They moved on, the forest bending further around them now. Somewhere ahead, the air tasted different — sharp, metallic, ancient.
Behind them, K stumbled once.
Nicholas’s head snapped back before he could stop himself.
Their eyes met — just for a second.
Something raw passed between them. Guilt. Anger. Fear.
Then Nicholas turned forward again.
And K kept walking.
Unseen by any of them, the land listened.
And far beyond the Blackwater Cliffs, something old stirred — not because it had been summoned, but because it had been remembered.
The ship creaked beneath them like a living thing.
Salt clung to the air, sharp and metallic, and the moon hung low over the water — too bright, too watchful. The pack spread out along the deck and below it, weapons checked, cloaks drawn tight.
K sat with his back against the hull.
He told himself he wouldn’t sleep.
He’d told himself that for weeks now.
His body didn’t listen.
Pain dulled first — that was always the warning. The ache in his ribs softened, the burning in his muscles receded, and dread pooled in his chest as exhaustion dragged him under.
No.
But the world tilted anyway.
He was back in the clearing.
Sunlight filtered through leaves, warm and gold, the smell of moss and pine thick in the air. Lyra stood barefoot in the grass, hair loose down her back, laughter already forming on her lips.
K’s chest tightened.
This dream.
He knew this one.
She was supposed to turn when he called her name.
“Lyra,” he said, voice breaking.
She didn’t turn.
The laughter never came.
She stared at the tree line instead, eyes unfocused — not fear, not awareness — just… absence.
“Lyra,” he tried again, stepping closer. “Are you okay—”
She looked at him then.
And there was nothing there.
No recognition. No warmth. No bond humming between them.
The world shuddered.
K stopped breathing.
“This isn’t right,” he whispered.
Lyra frowned, slow and confused, like the effort of expression cost her something precious. Her gaze slid past him, unfixed, distant.
“They’re loud,” she said.
The sound of her voice was wrong. Flat. Hollow.
K’s heart began to pound. “Who is?”
She winced suddenly, hands flying to her head. The sunlight dimmed. Shadows crept inward from the edges of the clearing.
“I can’t—” Her knees buckled. “I can’t remember what I’m supposed to feel.”
“No,” K said, lunging forward.
The ground split between them.
Black water surged up, swallowing the grass, the trees, the sky. Lyra stood frozen on the other side, eyes finally widening — not in recognition, but in fear.
“K,” she said, voice breaking for the first time.
Relief and terror hit him at once.
“I’m here,” he shouted. “Hold on to me. Please.”
She reached out.
Her fingers dissolved into shadow.
“No—!”
Her face went blank again, the fear vanishing like it had never existed.
And then she stepped backward.
Into the dark.
The water swallowed everything.
Sound went first — then colour — then the last fragile thread of Lyra’s presence.
K reached for her and found nothing.
He woke choking.
His body surged upright before his mind caught up, lungs dragging in air like he’d been underwater too long. The deck lurched beneath him, the smell of salt and damp wood clawing into his senses.
“She’s gone,” he gasped. “Lyra—”
His hands found someone.
Warm. Solid. Breathing.
K clutched at them blindly, fingers digging into fabric and muscle as panic ripped through him, his heart battering against his ribs hard enough to hurt.
“Don’t— don’t let her—” His voice cracked. “Please.”
A pause.
Then arms came up around him — stiff at first, surprised — but they didn’t push him away.
“K.”
Nicholas’ voice was low. Steady. Real.
K froze.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Nicholas’ grip tightened just enough to keep K upright, one hand firm between his shoulder blades, grounding him. His other hand pressed briefly against the back of K’s head, a gesture so instinctive it slipped past whatever wall he usually kept up.
“You’re okay,” Nicholas said quietly. “You’re awake. Breathe.”
K did — once, twice — his body still trembling, grief and terror twisting
together in his chest.
“She doesn’t know me anymore,” K whispered. “I think she’s forgetting me.”
Nicholas didn’t respond right away.
When he did, the concern was still there — but guarded now, slipping behind his usual armour.
“You’re okay,” he repeated. “Just think of it as just a dream.”
K pulled back sharply then, shame and anger crashing in all at once as he realised where he was — who he was holding.
The space between them returned instantly.
Nicholas’ hands dropped.
His face hardened.
“Get a grip,” he said, quieter but colder. “You’re not the only one carrying something.”
K’s fists clenched.
“You don’t get to—”
The ship shuddered violently beneath them.
A shout went up from the bow.
“Cliffs ahead!”
The argument died unfinished between them as the pack surged into motion.
Blackwater Cliffs rose out of the fog like broken teeth.
Jagged stone jutted skyward, slick and black, waves crashing violently against its base. The air felt wrong — heavy, charged, like the land itself was holding its breath.
Yuma moved quickly to the front, eyes narrowed, voice dropping into something more serious than his usual gossip-laced tone.
“So,” he said. “There are… stories about the warlock who lives here.”
The pack quieted.
“She’s powerful,” Yuma continued. “And not known for patience. Respect is not optional — it’s survival. Don’t provoke her. Don’t challenge her. Don’t assume anything.”
A sharp scoff cut through the tension.
Euijoo.
“Respect?” he muttered. “From a—”
Thwack.
Fuma’s hand connected solidly with the back of Euijoo’s neck.
“Alpha,” Fuma warned under his breath, eyes sharp. “Read the room.”
Euijoo grimaced, rubbing his neck, but said nothing else.
Yuma exhaled slowly. “Good. Because if the rumours are true…”
He glanced toward the cliffs, where mist curled unnaturally along the stone.
“She won’t hesitate to remind you why she’s feared.”
K stared at the cliffs, Lyra’s fading voice still echoing in his ears.
Whatever waited for them here — warlock, goddess, or monster —
They were running out of time.
Blackwater Cliffs did not welcome visitors.
The path up from the shore was narrow and uneven, carved into stone that looked chewed through rather than shaped. Every step echoed too loudly, the wind howling through the cliffside like something alive and watching.
K felt it immediately.
The pressure.
Not the pull of the Moon — this was different. Old. Dense. Magic that didn’t flow so much as it waited.
“Careful,” Yuma murmured, slowing. “This place doesn’t like shortcuts.”
The warning came a second too late.
The ground beneath Harua’s foot shifted.
A sharp click rang out.
“Down!” Jo barked.
The world erupted.
Runes flared blood-red beneath the stone as blackened chains shot upward from the ground, snapping shut where Harua’s legs had been a heartbeat earlier. The chains recoiled violently, embedding themselves back into the rock with a shriek that made K’s ears ring.
Silence followed.
Everyone froze.
“That,” Yuma said weakly, “was trap number one.”
As if offended by the implication that there were more, the cliffs answered.
A gust of wind slammed into them from the side, forcing them hard against the rock wall. Shadows peeled away from the stone, stretching unnaturally long before snapping back into place when Fuma growled, eyes glowing faintly.
They moved slower after that.
Smarter.
No one spoke unless absolutely necessary.
By the time the manor came into view, K’s muscles burned — not from exertion, but from restraint.
The building itself looked wrong.
It perched at the cliff’s edge like it had grown there, black stone twisted into sharp angles and spires that reached for the sky. The windows glowed faintly, shifting colours like something breathing behind glass.
“This is it,” Yuma said quietly.
No one asked how he knew.
They stepped inside.
The manor was vast — cavernous ceilings, walls lined with towering shelves of ancient tomes, the air thick with magic that prickled against K’s skin. Candles floated midair, their flames burning an unnatural blue.
And at the far end of the hall—
She sat.
Cloaked in dark fabric that pooled around her chair, long legs crossed lazily as she leaned back, utterly unbothered. Blue hair spilled down her back like inked starlight — real, unmistakable. Win blood.
An ancient spell book hovered before her, pages flipping on their own, glowing glyphs reflecting in sharp, intelligent eyes.
The pack stopped breathing.
Euijoo stepped forward.
And stopped.
The words lodged in his throat.
Alpha. Leader. Chosen by the Moon herself — and still, nothing came.
For the first time since the ultimatum, Euijoo didn’t know what to say.
The warlock tilted her head slightly.
Paused.
Then her eyes widened.
“Oh.”
The book slammed shut midair.
She leapt to her feet.
“Oh! You’re real!”
The shift was so abrupt it stunned them all.
She pushed the chair back with a clatter, cloak slipping off one shoulder as she rushed forward, blue hair bouncing with the movement.
“I knew the wards would trigger eventually!” she said brightly. “I mean — not the lethal ones, obviously. You’re all still standing, so that’s good. Hi!”
…Hi?
The wolves stared.
She beamed at them like they were unexpected guests at a party she’d been dying to host, “Hi! You’re— wow. You’re really tall.” She frolics past Jo and Maki.
“Wow,” she continued, hands clasped together. “It’s been ages since wolves came up here. Do you guys want tea? Or— oh! Wait—” Her gaze dropped, suddenly sharp, locking onto Euijoo. “You’re an alpha.”
Euijoo stiffened.
“Yes,” he managed.
Her smile widened.
“And you’re stressed,” she said cheerfully. “Like— apocalyptic levels of stressed. Ooooh, this is exciting.”
K blinked.
Fuma frowned.
Yuma looked like he’d just had his entire worldview dismantled.
“The only one worth trekking through my traps for,” she replied, then stuck out her hand. “Name’s—”
She paused, eyes flicking briefly toward K.
Something unreadable crossed her expression.
Then she smiled again.
“—but you can call me Nova.”
And just like that, the most dangerous being in Blackwater Cliffs grinned at them like they’d just become friends.
Euijoo can’t control his facial expression as he watched her with her hand out, scanning his pack. “You,” he said, voice steady, sharp. “You’re the warlock of Blackwater Cliffs?”
Euijoo’s eyes flicked away.
Not in fear.
In disbelief.
He circled a step to the side instead, gaze fixed on the runes etched into the floor, the books, the wards humming faintly beneath his feet.
“We were told the last of the Win bloodline resided here,” he said. “A warlock powerful enough to challenge the tide of this war.”
A pause.
The pack stared.
Euijoo didn’t smile.
“You don’t look… prepared,” Yuma said carefully.
Her brows knit.
“…Prepared?”
“For what you’re reputed to be,” he replied. His gaze finally lifted — sharp, assessing — but still avoided her eyes. “The world fears you. Entire councils speak your name like a curse.”
She blinked.
Then laughed.
“Oh. That.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, no. That’s mostly propaganda. And misogyny. Heavy on the misogyny.”
Fuma shifted awkwardly behind Euijoo.
Nicholas’s eyes narrowed.
Euijoo inhaled sharply — then, finally, looked at her.
Their eyes met.
The world snapped.
Pain tore through his chest like a blade driven straight into his core. His breath left him in a harsh, broken gasp as he staggered back like the floor was falling, hand instinctively clutching his heart, a broken yelp broke past his lips.
“Alpha?” Fuma barked, catching him.
K spun. “What did you do?”
The warlock’s eyes went wide.
“I— what?” she blurted. “I didn’t do anything, I swear to god!”
The pack bristled instantly.
“She attacked him,” Nicholas growled.
“No!” she protested, hands raised. “I didn’t cast anything! I didn’t even— I literally just looked at him!”
Euijoo straightened slowly, teeth clenched, breath uneven.
“I’m fine,” he said tightly.
Fuma glanced at him. “You’re in pain.”
“I said I’m fine,” Euijoo snapped, lowering his hand. The pain still burned — deep, intimate, unmistakable — but he forced his spine straight. Forced control.
The warlock stared at him now, something different in her expression.
Confusion. Curiosity. And something that made her swallow hard.
Euijoo didn’t meet her gaze again.
“Whatever just happened,” he said, voice steady despite the way his abdomen throbbed, “is irrelevant.”
He turned to the pack.
“We’re here because the Leviathians have taken one of our own,” he continued. “They demand a species in exchange.”
Silence.
Her excitement vanished.
“A trade,” she murmured. “For lives.”
Euijoo nodded once.
“And we need a solution,” he said. “One that saves both races.”
Behind him, the warlock exhaled slowly.
“…Yeah,” she said. “You’re definitely in the right place.”
And as Euijoo stood there — jaw set, hand still subtly guarding his core — the Moon watched.
Amused.
Harua cleared his throat.
The sound was small in the vastness of the manor, but it cut through the tension like a blade.
“Um— hi,” he said, stepping forward before anyone could stop him. His hands were clasped together, shoulders hunched in a way that made him look far younger than he was. “Your Grace—? Er. Miss Win? I’m— sorry, I don’t actually know how to address warlocks. I’ve never seen one before, I—”
“Nova is fine,” she said immediately, waving a hand. “Please don’t bow or anything, it makes me itchy.”
“Oh,” Harua breathed, relieved. “Okay. Hi, Nova. I’m Harua. I’m the healer of the pack and—” his voice wavered, just a little, before he forced it steady, “—and I can’t heal K anymore.”
The room shifted.
K stiffened instinctively, jaw tightening, but Harua didn’t look at him. He kept his eyes on Nova, wide and earnest.
“I can close wounds. I can stitch muscle, set bone, coax the body to remember how to heal itself,” Harua continued. “But this isn’t physical anymore. Every time he shifts, it takes more out of him. Every time he sleeps, he wakes up worse. It’s like something is… pulling him apart from the inside.”
Nova’s expression changed.
Not dramatically — just enough.
The lightness drained from her eyes as she turned slowly toward K, really looking at him now. Not his stance. Not his scars. Him.
“Oh,” she murmured.
K felt it then — that pressure again. Not pain. Awareness.
Like being seen by something that knew exactly where to look.
“You’ve been surviving on will alone,” Nova said quietly. “That’s… impressive. And very stupid.”
“Hey,” K muttered.
She crouched in front of K without asking, skirts pooling against the floor as she tilted her head, studying him from a different angle. Her fingers hovered near his chest — not touching.
“May I?” she asked.
K hesitated.
Then nodded once.
Nova placed two fingers lightly over his sternum.
The reaction was immediate.
K gasped, breath ripping out of him as his knees buckled. Nicholas was at his side in an instant, hand fisting in the back of his shirt to keep him upright.
“What are you doing?” Nicholas snapped.
“I’m not hurting him,” Nova said sharply, pulling her hand back. “I’m confirming what I already suspected.”
K sucked in a breath, vision swimming. “Which is?”
“You’re not broken,” she said. “You’re incomplete.”
Silence slammed down.
Nova stood, dusting her hands on her cloak as if she hadn’t just cracked something open.
“Your mate is alive,” she continued calmly. “But she’s… far. And whatever has her is interfering with the bond. It’s why healing magic can’t reach you properly. It’s like trying to pour water into a cup with a hole in the bottom.”
K’s throat closed.
Fuma stepped forward then, arms crossed, voice blunt as ever. “We don’t have time for metaphors.”
Nova turned to him, unimpressed.
“Good. Neither do I.”
She straightened, gaze sweeping over the pack — the tension, the blood, the division barely stitched together by loyalty.
“You want answers,” she said. “So here they are. The Leviathians aren’t just learning how to speak. They’re learning how to bind. They’ve taken over Lyra’s pack and tethered her to something old. Old enough to disrupt a mate bond.”
K’s claws slid halfway out before he could stop them.
“They gave us an ultimatum,” Fuma said. “Twenty-four hours. Species for species.”
Nova’s mouth curved.
“Ah,” she said lightly. “Blackmail. Classic.”
“You can help,” Fuma pressed. “You can stop them. End this. Now.”
Her gaze sharpened.
“I can help,” she agreed. “But let’s be very clear about something first.”
The air in the manor thickened.
Magic stirred — not violent, but vast. The candles flared brighter, shadows stretching unnaturally long across the walls.
“Nothing like this comes for free.”
The pack bristled as one.
Maki’s lips peeled back in a silent snarl. Taki shifted his stance, subtly placing himself between Nova and K.
Euijoo’s jaw set.
“What do you want?” he asked.
Nova smiled.
Slow. Deliberate. A warlock’s sinister smile.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “A life, maybe. A truth. A promise you can’t take back.”
Her pink eyes glowed faintly as the magic pressed harder, the room seeming to lean inward.
“For a war this big?” she continued softly. “The price will hurt.”
The pack tensed — muscles coiled, instincts screaming.
And then—
Nova burst out laughing.
“Oh my god, your faces,” she wheezed, clutching her stomach. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry— I shouldn’t do that. You guys are so intense.”
The magic vanished like it had never been there.
Yuma blinked. “Is she serious?”
“Sometimes,” Nova said cheerfully. “But I wasn’t joking about that.”
She sobered slightly then, avoiding meeting Euijoo’s gaze again — this time without the teasing.
“I will help you,” she said. “Immediately. I don’t like bullies, and I like Leviathians even less.”
K exhaled shakily.
“But,” she added, voice quieter now, more honest, “my magic does come with a cost. Not tonight. Not all at once. But eventually.”
“What kind of cost?” Fuma asked.
Nova looked at K again.
Then back at Fuma.
Then, briefly — almost thoughtfully — toward the Moonlit window.
“A sacrifice,” she said. “One that matters.”
The room fell silent.
K lay sprawled on the cold stone floor of the Blackwater manor, muscles trembling, claws flexing against nothing as his wolf instincts pulsed frantically beneath his skin. Harua hovered at his side, face pale, hands hovering uselessly.
Nova knelt in front of him, her blue hair spilling over her shoulders like liquid starlight. Her hands hovered just above his chest, palms glowing faintly as sigils floated around her like shards of light.
“Don’t worry,” she said softly, voice melodic, almost teasing. “I won’t rip your mind apart. Not completely.”
K growled low in his throat, teeth bared. “I don’t care what you do. Fix me.”
The warlock’s eyes flickered toward Fuma and Euijoo. “He won’t stay still. He’ll resist. His mind… he’s hurting worse than his body.”
“I’ll hold him,” Fuma said, stepping closer, muscles tensed.
“Good,” Nova said. She glanced at Euijoo’s side “Alpha, you need to be ready. This… might connect him to her again.”
Euijoo’s jaw tightened. “I understand. Just… do it.”
Nova’s hands finally pressed lightly against K’s chest. Immediately, a shiver ran through him — not a normal one, but deep, primal. His eyes rolled back slightly, and his breathing stuttered.
“K…” Fuma warned softly. “This is going to be intense.”
The glow around Nova’s palms deepened, coiling like a living thing. “K, your mate… Lyra. I can restore the link, but you need to know the risks. Mental bond restored means you will sense her — every fear, every agony, every shred of pain she endures. And vice versa: she will feel you too.”
K’s jaw flexed, instinctively curling his hands. “I… I don’t care. I need to know she’s alive.”
Nova nodded once. “Good. Hold still.”
A pulse of energy surged through him, and the world shifted.
Suddenly, the stone walls and floating candles blurred, replaced with shadowed shapes — fragments of a memory he didn’t quite recognise. A cold, sterile room, humming with the sickly smell of magic and metal. Lyra was there, restrained, her wrists and ankles glowing with faint runes. His stomach clenched violently as he realised what was happening.
The Leviathians moved around her, experimenting. Nothing gruesome yet, but the intent was clear. Their claws traced her skin like precision tools, their mouths whispering incantations he couldn’t fully hear.
K’s teeth ground together. Pain lanced through him — sharp, immediate, and entirely mental. Lyra was screaming silently, trapped in a nightmare only he could feel.
“Shit,” Fuma muttered. “Her link—”
K’s body shuddered, shaking uncontrollably. He felt himself start to drift, like he was slipping into a shell. Not asleep, not gone, but empty, eyes hollow.
Nova’s voice cut through his haze. “Stay with me, K. Focus. Breathe.”
He clawed at the air. The flashes of Lyra, the experiments, the fear — it threatened to consume him entirely.
“Her pain,” he rasped. “It… I—”
“Yes,” Nova confirmed gently. “That’s the bond. You’ll feel her. But if you panic, if you let the disassociation take you, you won’t be able to protect her at all.”
K growled low, trying to anchor himself. Images flickered: Lyra flinching, the metallic scent of her cuffs, the Leviathians whispering coldly around her. Then a memory — her smile, a touch, her laugh — burned through the terror, grounding him briefly.
“Not yet,” he whispered through gritted teeth. “Not… yet.”
Fuma’s hands pressed on his shoulders, holding him upright. Euijoo’s presence was steady behind him. Even Nicholas’s sharp gaze sliced through the chaos, silent but vigilant.
Finally, slowly, K exhaled. His eyes, though strained and wild, blinked fully open. The link was there. He could sense her. She was alive. But Lyra’s fear, her pain, her numbness — it was all there too, raw and unfiltered.
Nova removed her hands, smiling faintly. “It’s done. You’re linked. But remember — every time she suffers, you’ll feel it. And she’ll know you’re looking. The Leviathians know this too. Your every movement, every shift, every heartbeat… it can give them your location.”
K’s jaw clenched. “I don’t care. I’ll get her back.”
Nova’s eyes glimmered, both approving and cautionary. “Good. But don’t let the bond consume you. It’s as much a weapon as it is a blessing. Control it, or it will control you.”
Euijoo nodded, hands clenched. “Yes. K, stay with us. We need every advantage — and that means you stay present.”
K nodded, though his body trembled from the mental strain. He was still himself, barely — but the bond was awake. And with it, the knowledge that Lyra’s suffering was now his own.
The pack had barely taken a step toward the exit when Nova’s voice rang out, sharp and deliberate.
“Stop.”
Every wolf froze. K’s muscles tensed. Euijoo’s hand instinctively went to his chest.
Nova’s pink eyes glimmered in the candlelight, and her tone carried that peculiar mix of playfulness and authority that made even seasoned alphas hesitate.
“You’re forgetting something very important,” she said, folding her arms. “The sacrifice.”
Yuma stepped forward, brows furrowed. “Wait — what? K’s mental strain wasn’t enough?”
Nova tilted her head, letting the question hang like a blade. “No. Not even close.” She leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “Power this big… it never comes for free. And the price? It might surprise you.”
Fuma growled low in his throat, stepping protectively closer to Euijoo, who was now clutching his chest with a wince. Harua’s eyes widened as he reached instinctively, trying to soothe the alpha, but no healing magic would reach past the invisible threads of fate. His gaze flicked between Nova and Euijoo — the realisation settling like a stone in his stomach.
“I need an alpha to remain here,” Nova said, voice calm but firm. “Someone who can act as a living conduit — bound to my magic. Autonomy will be limited temporarily, but the link… it amplifies the bond. It allows the magic to extend far beyond what you’ve felt today.”
K’s ears flattened. “Living conduit?” he rasped.
Nova’s lips quirked in a small, teasing smile. “Yes, yes. Someone has to stay behind while the rest of you take action. Otherwise, the power won’t last. That’s how this works.”
Euijoo’s jaw tightened. “I’ll stay.”
Fuma’s hands gripped his shoulders. “Now—”
“I trust you to lead them,” Euijoo interrupted, voice firm despite the faint tremor as he clutched his chest. “Go. Save her.”
Nova raised an eyebrow. “Oh, good. So we’re in agreement. And one more thing — a warning.” She let her gaze sweep over the pack, sharp and gleaming. “Sometimes, during the fight, having your pack around… isn’t enough. That is when you’ll need me.”
The wolves exchanged uneasy glances.
Nova continued, voice dipping into almost a whisper, yet somehow carrying through the hall. “If that moment comes… find any reflective surface. Look into it. Chant my name five times. Only then will I appear. Without a reflective surface? You won’t have me.”
A shiver ran down K’s spine as the words sunk in. Euijoo tightened his grip on his abdomen, feeling every subtle tug and pulse from Lyra’s bond, realizing just how fragile the link could be under these circumstances.
Nova stepped closer to Euijoo, her tone softer but no less serious. “This is not a step to be taken lightly. Lives — your mate, your pack, maybe more — hinge on this. Are you certain you understand the weight of what you’re agreeing to?”
“I do,” Euijoo rasped, teeth clenched. His eyes flicked to Fuma. “Lead them. I’ll be ready.”
Nova nodded once, satisfied, a faint smile curling her lips. “Good. Then go. And remember — not everything that binds you is visible. Power this big… always has strings attached.”
The pack hesitated for only a heartbeat before Fuma’s firm nudge set them moving again, leaving Euijoo behind, a silent, determined anchor to Nova’s magic. K glanced back, instinctively wanting to stay, but the sight of Euijoo standing firm, chest heaving but unbroken, bolstered his resolve.
Whatever came next, they had no choice but to trust the alpha — and the warlock.
K’s vision fractured into shards of fire, blood, and ice, the link pulling him violently into Lyra’s torment. Her fear, her confusion, the slow, methodical cruelty of the Leviathians — he felt it all. Every heartbeat of hers, every flinch, every ragged inhale seared into him.
“Lyra…” His voice was a whisper, hoarse, swallowed by the storm inside his mind.
For a few seconds, he was himself — raw, agonised, desperate. “She’s… they’re holding her… stone hall, east wing… cages… iron… shadows…”
The words tore from him, disconnected from his body, as if they belonged to some other shell of a wolf who had lived a thousand lifetimes before him. Then his eyes glazed, lips slack, and the connection dragged him under again.
“Focus, K,” Yuma hissed, leaning close, tapping into the link Nova had anchored. His own mind a whirlwind of numbers, glyphs, and half-formed intuition. “I’ve got it. I can map it. Coordinates, terrain, traps — hold on!”
K felt numb. Pain and despair rolled over him like waves. He howled, low and broken, a sound that twisted into the stone walls of the manor as the pack froze, hearts clenching. Then sleep — or some dreamlike void — pulled him again, leaving him half-conscious and trembling.
Maki moved closer, small but unyielding. The youngest wolf of the pack, yet somehow carrying the instinctive patience of one older than his years. “K… it’s okay. Shh, I’ve got you.”
Hands — paws, claws — gently pressed against his shoulders. Maki rocked him back and forth, murmuring in a low, rhythmic voice. “Remember the stories, old wolf. The stories you told me when I was just a pup. About the moon, about the forests, about the first pack…”
K’s body shook violently, sobs barely contained. Ancient grief collided with present terror. “Maki… it hurts… it hurts…” His voice was a rasp, a thread of a sound swallowed by his own shaking chest.
“I know,” Maki whispered, holding him tighter. “I know it does. But you’re still here. You’re still here.”
Tears slipped freely, wetting Maki’s fur. K’s muzzle pressed against Maki’s shoulder, the smallest wolf cradling the eldest in a role reversal that would have felt impossible to anyone else.
“Shh… just breathe. You’re not alone. I’m here,” Maki murmured, tracing patterns on K’s back with claws so careful it was like painting invisible wards.
For the first time since the link was forced open, K’s mind slowed. He could feel Lyra still — trapped, afraid — but beneath that pain, beneath the screaming anguish, he felt a tether holding him back from fully breaking.
“Yuma…?” he rasped, barely conscious.
“I’ve got her location,” Yuma replied, voice tight with urgency. “East wing, cages iron-shadowed… Leviathians, heavy wards, multiple sentries. We can reach her. You can rest now — just breathe.”
K shivered against Maki, eyes fluttering closed, the pack forming a protective circle around them. His body throbbed from both the mental assault and the magical conduit. Sleep took him in fragments, each moment punctuated by Lyra’s pain. He would wake screaming, then Maki would soothe him, whispering stories of the old wolves, of courage, of survival.
And slowly, the howl of despair transformed into a quiet determination.
K’s sobs quieted into ragged breaths. The eldest wolf — broken, fractured, in pain beyond any normal threshold — allowed himself to lean into the smallest member of the pack, remembering that even the strongest can rely on others.
The journey to Lyra had begun.
But the Leviathians had no idea the storm that was coming.
Fuma crouched low, ears twitching, tail stiff as he surveyed the pack. “We move in waves. Jo, Maki, you two flank left. Harua, Yuma, stay center — cover our backs. Taki, you’re on overwatch at the entrance. K and Nicholas… you’re with me. We break through the first line, get to Lyra. Keep your head. This isn’t a stroll through the forest.”
K nodded, but his chest felt hollow, every step heavy as the mental link with Lyra tugged at his bones. Fuma’s eyes met his briefly. “I’ve got your back. Don’t let her suffering take you completely.”
The wind carried the metallic scent of blood and the acrid tang of the Leviathians’ strange, oily hides. They moved through the shadows, paws silent on the stone.
The first Leviathian caught them by surprise — a hulking beast with jagged claws and teeth like shards of glass. Jo lunged, teeth sinking into its shoulder, tearing flesh with a sickening rip. It screamed, slamming its clawed hand down, narrowly missing Maki, who darted beneath its reach and slashed at its knees.
Black ichor spilled across the floor, steam rising as the wolves’ blood mixed with the strange oils of the Leviathians. Every growl, every snap of teeth, every clang of claws against bone echoed through the halls like war drums.
K moved forward with Fuma and Nicholas, sidestepping another swing and biting down on a Leviathian’s arm, feeling its muscles snap beneath his jaws. Around him, the pack fought with feral precision, bodies moving as one — a dance of death, blood, and magic.
At one point, a Leviathian launched a jagged spear of bone; Nicholas dove, catching K by the shoulder and dragging him out of its trajectory. “Get your head in the game, K!” he barked, his own fur matted with blood and sweat.
They reached the wing where Lyra was held. The door was barred, chains rattling against stone. Nicholas dropped into a crouch, scanning the corridor. “I’ve got the entrance. Make it quick.”
K’s heart surged and shattered at the same time. Inside, Lyra sat slumped against the wall, chains cutting into her bruised wrists and ankles. Her eyes were unfocused, pupils dilated, lips moving silently in disjointed murmurs.
Every so often, she drifted into that cold, unreachable disassociation, as if he weren’t even there.
“Lyra,” he whispered, voice breaking. “It’s me. Please… come back to me.”
Her head jerked slightly, a flicker of recognition passing through her vacant gaze. Tears streaked her dirt-smeared face, but she barely spoke. Her voice was a fragile echo, barely audible.
“Shh… I’m here. I’ll get you out. I promise,” K sobbed, pressing a hand to her cheek, feeling her warmth, the trembling under his touch.
Chains rattled behind them — Nicholas’ voice sharp in the hall. “K, incoming! Make it fast!”
K’s jaw tightened. He bit back a growl, hands fumbling at the locks, praying he could break them in time. Lyra whimpered, her mind flickering back into the Leviathians’ experiments, the cold, clinical terror of it all. K’s stomach knotted as he felt her pain in full — the link was merciless.
“Come back… Lyra, please, I need you…” He held her face in both hands, rocking slightly as if his will alone could pull her from the fog.
She blinked slowly, muttering fragments of their shared memories, her lips trembling. K kissed her forehead, murmuring everything he couldn’t say aloud. “I love you. I’ve never stopped. You’re my mate. Come back to me.”
The sounds of claws, snarls, and the Leviathians’ inhuman cries pressed in, but for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just them — a tether of desperate love, the spark of recognition flickering amidst the shadows of pain.
“K! NOW!” Nicholas barked again, voice cutting through the haze.
K’s hands shook as he worked the chains, feeling every second of Lyra’s suffering as his own. The fight outside raged, blood and fury feeding the narrow corridor of hope.
Finally, with a sickening snap of metal, the last chain gave way. K pulled Lyra to him, cradling her bruised, trembling form. She clung to him weakly, mumbling disjointed words, and he kissed her temple fiercely, tears dripping onto her face.
“Hold on, Lyra. I’ve got you. We’re getting out. I swear…”
But Lyra lay on the floor, weak and motionless, chains biting into her bruised skin. If the timing couldn’t be worse, the mental link between the two of them decided that both K and Lyra were going to dissociate right then and there.
Nicholas was left alone to defend the three of them, teeth bared, claws digging into stone, fury and panic intertwining.
He cursed the Moon Goddess under his breath, low and vicious. Why was it always him? Always the one left holding the line when chaos erupted?
Howling for backup, he wasted no time, shifting into his wolf form. Red fur streaked with blood, feral and deranged, he lunged at the nearest Leviathian,
Teeth tearing through armor-like flesh. Every swipe, every snap of his jaws was precise, ruthless — a blur of red against shadowed gray. Between attacks, he barked at K, voice raw and ragged. “Wake up! K! Come on!”
The Leviathians were relentless. For every one he felled, two more emerged from the gloom, snarling and clawing. The floor became slick with blood, a chaotic canvas of claws, teeth, and despair. Nicholas dodged a jagged strike, rolling just in time as shards of bone shattered the stone where he had been.
Soon, he was surrounded. His muscles screamed, every growl a mixture of rage and pure exhaustion. And as he glanced around, he saw them: more Leviathians, closing in from every corridor, their eyes glowing in the dim light, an endless tide of horror. For the first time, a thought that had never crossed him before wormed its way into his mind: We’re going to die here.
Every strike that landed left him more bruised, more battered, fur matted with gore. His teeth clamped down on armor and sinew, but the numbers weren’t in his favor. Desperation clawed at his chest. Then, a flicker of memory — Nova’s instructions. The words, the cryptic warning, came rushing back: Sometimes having a pack around isn’t enough… find a reflective surface, chant my name five times…
Nicholas’ eyes darted around frantically. Mirrors? Shiny metal? Windows? Anything!
He dashed to a puddle of water on the floor. His voice trembled, low and urgent. “Nova! Nova! Nova! Nova—”
At the start of the fifth chant, a talon-like hand shot out from the shadows, seizing him by the hind leg and yanking him backward with brutal force.
Pain shot through his body as he slammed against the stone, the wind knocked from his lungs, but he didn’t stop. He clawed at the ground, growling, fighting, refusing to lose the fight or the hope that this could be turned around.
The echo of K and Lyra’s dissociation still tugged at him, a cruel reminder that he couldn’t fail. Not now. Not ever.
“K, I swear to god. Wake the fuck up!” Nicholas roared, slashing his claws across the creature that had dragged him away.
The Leviathian screeched as his claws tore through its throat, ichor spraying hot across Nicholas’s muzzle. It collapsed in a heap, but there was no time to breathe. Bodies toppled around him — wolves and Leviathians alike — the air thick with the stench of blood and magic.
Nicholas staggered, chest heaving.
His gaze snapped back to K.
Still unmoving.
Lyra lay crumpled beside him, eyes open but empty, chains rattling softly with every shallow breath she took.
Panic clawed up Nicholas’s spine.
No.
Not like this.
He looked down.
The puddle.
Still there — rippling faintly from the chaos, reflecting fractured light from the burning torches above. His reflection stared back at him, warped and blood-smeared, eyes wild.
Why the fuck did Nova need her name called five times?
Why couldn’t it be once?
Who did the warlock think she was — Bloody fucking Mary?
A shrill screech split the air as another Leviathian lunged for him.
Nicholas turned just in time, jaws snapping shut around its arm. Bone crunched. He twisted, threw it aside, then ran — sliding on blood and stone — back toward the puddle.
His vision tunneled.
His limbs were shaking now.
He dropped to one knee, claws scraping against the wet stone as he leaned over the water.
“Nova,” he snarled.
A shadow fell over him.
Something heavy slammed into his side, ribs screaming as he was thrown hard across the floor. He skidded, hit a column, felt something crack.
Nicholas gasped, pain exploding through his chest.
A Leviathian loomed over him, talons raised.
“Fuck—”
Nicholas rolled, barely avoiding the strike, and caught sight of the puddle again — just a few feet away. Close enough.
He dragged himself forward, muscles burning, vision blurring.
“Nova!” he shouted.
A claw slashed down his back. White-hot pain tore through him, and he screamed — but he didn’t stop.
“Nova!”
Another hit. His shoulder gave way with a sickening crunch.
“Nova!”
His face slammed into the stone beside the puddle, blood spilling into the water, turning the reflection dark red.
He laughed — a broken, breathless sound.
“Nov—!”
The Leviathian raised its arm for the killing blow.
Nicholas sucked in a shattered breath and screamed the final word straight into the blood-stained reflection.
“NOVA!”
The world snapped.
The puddle went still.
Perfectly, unnaturally still.
Then it boiled.
Blue light erupted from the water, tearing upward in a violent column of magic that blasted the Leviathian backward like a ragdoll. The stone beneath Nicholas’s hands cracked, runes igniting across the floor in blinding, searing sigils.
The air dropped ten degrees.
A presence slammed into the room — ancient, vast, amused.
A laugh echoed through the chamber, bright and delighted, completely wrong for the carnage around them.
“Ohhh,” Nova’s voice rang out, layered and resonant, coming from everywhere at once. “You guys really did wait until the last second, huh?”
Blue light coalesced from the puddle, rising, shaping itself —
And Nicholas collapsed forward, finally, mercifully unconscious.
Behind him, K’s fingers twitched.
Just once.
The blue light did not fade.
It expanded.
The air screamed as magic tore through the chamber, ripping shadows from the walls and pinning them in place like terrified animals. Runes ignited across the stone floor, ancient and unreadable, glowing the same impossible blue as the Han bloodline.
The Leviathians recoiled.
Some dropped to their knees.
Others screamed.
And then—
Nova stepped out of the light.
She landed barefoot on the stone, cloak fluttering behind her like a living thing, blue hair lifting as if caught in a current only she could feel. Her eyes glowed — not with rage, not with mercy — but with something far worse.
Delight.
“Oof,” she said lightly, surveying the carnage. “You guys really trashed the place.”
Her gaze flicked to the frozen Leviathians.
“Rude.”
She snapped her fingers.
The sound was soft.
The result was not.
The nearest Leviathian imploded.
Not exploded — imploded — its armor-like flesh folding inward with a wet, nauseating crunch before collapsing into a heap of nothing and bone. The ones beside it screamed, trying to run, only for the shadows beneath their feet to grab back, coiling around their limbs like living restraints.
Nova tilted her head, studying them like a curious child.
“Huh,” she mused. “You experimented on wolves and thought I wouldn’t notice?”
Her smile sharpened.
“That’s on you.”
She lifted her hand.
The shadows yanked.
Leviathians were ripped apart — flung into walls hard enough to crack stone, crushed midair by invisible pressure, their screams cut short as blue sigils burned through their bodies like brands.
Outside, the battle shifted.
The ground trembled.
A howl tore through the night — so deep, so thunderous it vibrated through bone and blood alike. It rolled across the battlefield in a violent wave, stopping Leviathians mid-charge, forcing them to their knees.
The Moon herself seemed to pause.
From the edge of the battlefield, something massive moved.
Fur the colour of burnished ginger and deep earth surged forward — a wolf so large it dwarfed the others, shoulders rolling with power, eyes burning silver-gold. Euijoo hit the fray like a living force of nature, jaws snapping shut around a Leviathian’s torso and ripping it clean in half.
Blood sprayed.
He didn’t slow.
His howl rose again, cracking the air, a command woven into sound itself.
The wolves answered.
Inside the wing, the sound hit K like a blow to the chest.
His eyes flew open.
The dissociation shattered.
The alpha’s howl tore through the fog in his mind, anchoring him brutally back into his body — into pain, into rage, into purpose.
He was on his feet in a heartbeat, crossing the distance to Lyra in two strides, dropping to his knees beside her. His hands shook as he cupped her face, thumbs brushing tear tracks through grime and blood.
“Lyra,” he breathed, voice breaking. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”
Her eyes fluttered.
Focus came and went, slipping like water through fingers.
“I’m here,” he said fiercely. “You’re not alone. I’ve got you. I swear I’ve got you.”
A Leviathian lunged from the doorway.
K didn’t even look.
He turned, snarled — and tore its throat out with his teeth.
Another came.
He met it head-on, claws ripping, body a blur of violence, placing himself between Lyra and the world like a living shield. Nothing came close without dying for it.
“Stay with me,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers when it was over, blood dripping from his chin. “Please. Come back to me.”
Her fingers twitched.
Then curled weakly into his sleeve.
K sucked in a shaky breath, eyes burning.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “That’s my girl.”
Behind them, Nova laughed again — bright and sharp, echoing through the ruins as the last of the Leviathians screamed.
“Oh, I am so billing the Moon Goddess for this,” she said cheerfully.
And above them all, the Moon shone — silent, watchful.
The war had just changed.
Euijoo moved through what remained of the battlefield with heavy steps, every inch of him aching.
The Leviathians were gone — ash, shadow, and silence left in their wake — but the cost lingered everywhere. Wolves lay scattered across broken stone and torn earth, some slumped against walls, others sprawled where exhaustion had finally claimed them. Blood matted fur. Bandages glowed faintly where Harua had done what little he could.
Alive.
All of them.
The relief hit Euijoo like a wave, sharp and almost dizzying.
“No deaths,” Harua said quietly, voice hoarse. “Bad injuries. Some will scar. But… no deaths.”
Euijoo closed his eyes.
Thank the Moon.
He straightened, shoulders squaring despite the ache in his chest — despite the dull, constant throb that still hadn’t faded since Blackwater Cliffs. His pack was breathing. That was enough for now.
But victory stalled at the far end of the chamber.
Lyra lay unmoving where K had gathered her into his arms, her body limp against his chest, breathing shallow and uneven. Her wounds were closed — Nova had seen to that — but whatever held her wasn’t physical.
It was quieter than injury.
Worse.
K looked up when Euijoo approached, eyes red-rimmed and wild, desperation bleeding through every carefully built wall.
“She keeps passing out,” he said, voice breaking. “She heard me. I know she did. She squeezed my hand.”
Nova knelt beside them, fingers glowing faintly blue as she hovered them just above Lyra’s temple.
“I can’t force her back,” she said softly. “Her mind… it retreated to survive. Whatever they did to her, it taught her that disappearing was safer than feeling.”
K shook his head violently.
“No,” he whispered. “No, please. There has to be something else. You’re a warlock. You bend reality. You—”
“I don’t get to choose where people heal,” Nova interrupted gently. “Only how much space they’re given to try.”
K’s breath hitched.
He turned back to Lyra, pressing his forehead to hers, hands trembling as they cradled her face like she might shatter.
“Lyra,” he whispered. “Love, please. Come back to me.”
His voice dropped, raw and unguarded, stripped of everything but truth.
“I kept thinking you’d hate me if I found you,” he confessed. “That you’d look at me and not remember us. And I still came. I still would’ve come.”
His thumb brushed over her knuckles.
“I never stopped thinking about you. Not once. Every patrol, every full moon — I kept saving places for you in my head. I saw you everywhere. In the trees. In the way the light hits the river at dawn.”
A tear slipped down his cheek, falling onto her hand.
“I wanted to take you back to the ridge where we first shifted together,” he continued softly. “The one with the crooked pine. I was going to complain about the cold just so you’d laugh at me again.”
His voice cracked.
“I kept planning dates like you were just… late. Like you’d show up any day now and tell me I was an idiot for worrying.”
He let out a broken laugh that dissolved into a sob.
“I loved you so much it nearly killed me,” he whispered. “And losing you did worse.”
His grip tightened, careful not to hurt her.
“I don’t need you to be the same,” he begged. “I don’t need you whole or smiling or strong. I just need you here. With me. Let me do the rest. Let me love you back.”
The room held its breath.
Even Nova looked away.
K pressed his lips to Lyra’s forehead, trembling.
“I’m still yours,” he said. “I never stopped being.”
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then—
Lyra’s breathing stuttered.
Her fingers twitched, barely there, but unmistakable.
K froze.
Her brows knit together faintly, as if she were struggling through deep water, and a soft, broken sound slipped from her throat — not a word, but a feeling.
K sobbed openly now, clutching her to him as if the world might try to steal her again.
“That’s it,” he whispered desperately. “That’s it. Stay. Please stay.”
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was the quiet, desperate kind of unraveling that came from holding yourself together for far too long.
“Nova,” he rasped, lifting his head to her like a man praying to something he never believed in. “Please. I’ll do anything. Take years off my life. Take my strength. Take— take me if you have to. Just— please.”
His hands shook as he cradled Lyra closer, forehead pressed to hers like he was trying to anchor her soul back into her body.
“She’s right there,” he whispered frantically. “I know she is. She heard me. I felt it. Please— please don’t let her slip away now.”
Nova was already moving.
She dropped to her knees beside them, blue hair falling loose from its tie as both hands came up to cup Lyra’s temples. Magic bloomed — not violent, not explosive, but deep and ancient, threads of glowing sigils weaving themselves carefully through Lyra’s mind like hands brushing fragile glass.
Nova’s jaw clenched.
She pushed.
Harder.
But there’s only so much a warlock could do. Magic is nothing against fate.
The air hummed. Candles flickered violently. The runes etched into the stone flared, then dimmed again as if resisting her.
Nova sucked in a sharp breath, blood trickling from her nose.
“Come on,” she muttered under her breath. “Come on, please…”
For a moment, nothing happened.
And then—
Lyra’s lips parted.
“Yudai…” she breathed, the sound barely there, fractured like it had traveled a long way to reach them.
K froze.
His entire world narrowed to that single sound.
Her fingers twitched again, this time more deliberately, trembling as they reached forward — blindly, weakly — until they brushed against his chest.
“K,” she tried again, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. “Yudai..”
“That’s me,” K sobbed, catching her hand instantly, pressing it over his heart. “I’m here. I’m right here, love. You found me. You did.”
He bent over her, crying openly now, kissing her knuckles, her brow, her tangled hair like he was terrified she’d disappear if he stopped touching her.
The room exhaled.
Wolves who hadn’t realized they were holding their breath sagged where they stood. Even Euijoo’s shoulders loosened slightly, relief washing through him in a way he hadn’t allowed himself yet.
Nova leaned back slowly.
The glow faded from her hands.
She wiped the blood from beneath her nose with the back of her wrist and shook her head, exhaustion and something like grief settling into her features.
“This is all I can do,” she said quietly. “I won’t lie to you, K. Her mind was… played with. Fragmented. Whatever they did, they didn’t just hurt her — they unmade pieces of her to see what would happen.”
K’s chest tightened, but he didn’t look away from Lyra.
“She won’t be the same,” Nova continued gently. “She may dissociate. Forget days. Forget herself sometimes. Recovery won’t be quick. It won’t be easy.”
She met his eyes, unflinching.
“And I don’t know how long it will take.”
K swallowed hard.
Then he nodded.
“I don’t care,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve waited this long. I’ll wait longer. I’ll spend the rest of my life helping her find her way back if that’s what it takes.”
Lyra stirred faintly at his voice, brow knitting as if she recognised the promise being made.
Nova studied him for a long moment — really looked at him — and something in her expression softened.
Behind them, Harua stepped forward.
“She won’t be alone,” he said firmly. “Not in this. As the healer of the pack… I believe the Moon will walk with them.”
He smiled gently, eyes warm.
“A wolf is twice as powerful with their mate,” Harua added. “Body. Mind. Soul. Slowly but surely — she’ll heal.”
K bowed his head over Lyra again, pressing his lips to her hair, breathing her in like air after drowning.
“Did you hear that?” he whispered to her, voice trembling with hope. “We’re not in a hurry anymore.”
Lyra didn’t respond with words.
But her fingers tightened weakly around his.
And this time—
She didn’t let go.
That feeling—the one that comes after surviving something you shouldn’t have—settled over them slowly.
Heavy. Quiet. Earned.
The Leviathians’ hideout was in ruins. Stone split open, corridors collapsed, the sea creeping back in through fractured walls like it was reclaiming something foul. The air stank of blood and salt and burned magic.
The pack gathered instinctively.
Not in formation. Not as soldiers.
As family.
K sat with Lyra cradled against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin. She was conscious now—not fully present, not whole yet—but breathing steadily, fingers curled into his shirt like she knew where she belonged even if she didn’t know why. His posture was protective, reverent. For the first time in weeks, the sickness in his bones had eased. Not gone—but quieter.
Manageable.
Hope did that.
Euijoo stood a few paces away, massive even in his human form, gaze sweeping over his pack one by one. Everyone was injured. Bloodied. Exhausted. But when he counted heads—again, and again—no one was missing.
Relief hit him like a wave he hadn’t allowed himself to feel until now.
Nova leaned against a fractured pillar nearby, arms crossed loosely, blue hair dulled with ash and blood. The playful sharpness was gone from her expression, replaced by something older. Watchful. Calculating.
An ally now.
Nicholas stood beside the alpha, arms crossed, red-streaked fur still visible along his knuckles where he hadn’t fully shifted back yet. His gaze flicked briefly to K and Lyra—then away. Some things didn’t need commentary.
The silence broke with a wet sound.
They turned as one.
Black ichor was seeping across the stone floor near the remains of the Leviathians’ inner chamber, thick and alive, writhing like it resented being left behind. Slowly—deliberately—it began to move with purpose.
Letters formed.
Not carved.
Written.
N O M E R C Y
The words glistened under the dying light, pulsing once before sinking back into the stone like a threat etched into memory itself.
No one spoke.
They didn’t need to.
Nova exhaled softly. “Well,” she said, voice light but eyes sharp. “That’s ominous.”
“They’ll come back,” Fuma said quietly.
“Yes,” Euijoo agreed. His voice was steady now. Grounded. “And they’ll be worse.”
K tightened his hold on Lyra, jaw setting. “Then so will we.”
The alpha nodded once.
Today, they had saved her.
They had protected the human village.
They had stopped the trade.
Today, K was healing—not because his body suddenly knew how, but because his mate was back where she belonged.
And today, standing amid ruin and blood and prophecy, they had gained something the Leviathians hadn’t anticipated.
A warlock.
A bond.
A future worth fighting for.
The pack turned as one and left the hideout behind, carrying their wounded, their hope, and the knowledge that this was only the beginning.
Above them, the Moon watched.
And this time?
She was not silent.
©inkedbysonny
The Moon Never Makes Mistakes
✐ᝰ word count: 13.3k ✐ᝰ genre: fantasy, romance, slow burn, action, werewolf!nicholas, human!oc, high-stakes battle, mythic worldbuilding ✐ᝰ warnings: graphic violence, blood and gore, intense action, mentions of abduction and prejudice, brief panic/anxiety, mild cursing, chaos of battle, shaky alliances, k gets hurt really bad ✐ᝰ author's note: omg it took so many rewrites to get here. here’s part 2 of the veilborne saga — again reading it as a standalone is fine, but reading in order gives you the full bite <3 expect slow burn, intense chemistry, wolf instincts, and messy moral choices. theories, thoughts, and chaos-takes are always welcome! ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆links to other parts of the veilbourne saga: part 1 (jo)| part 3 (k) | part 4 (euijoo) | part 5 (harua) part 6 (yuma) | part 7 (taki) | part 8 (maki) | part 9 (fuma)
They said the forest was cursed after sundown. That once the last bell tolled and the ward-lights along the fences dimmed, the creatures of the dark reclaimed what was theirs.
The town called it harmony. Nicholas called it denial.
He’d patrolled the border long enough to know peace was just a human word for temporary.
Tonight, the air was thick with the scent of rain and iron. The sky bruised itself into indigo, and somewhere in the distance, a clock tower chimed — three short notes that meant stay inside.
Nicholas adjusted the blade at his hip, boots sinking into the wet soil. His wolf strained under his skin, restless. The borders had been... noisy lately. The kind of noise that meant trouble — scents crossing where they shouldn’t, whispers of Fae traders vanishing, strange lights over the river.
And humans. Always these stupid humans who thought the world beyond their fences was just a story.
He caught her scent before he saw her — sharp, unfamiliar, threaded with ink and rainwater.
Then came the crunch. A single step in the dark.
Nicholas was moving before thought caught up — soundless, swift, predatory. The wind shifted, and there she was.
A girl, crouched just beyond the wardline, a lantern beside her and a sketchbook balanced on her knees. Her hands were stained with charcoal. She looked entirely too calm for someone sitting on the edge of death.
At first, she thought it was the wind stirring leaves — until he stepped into the moonlight. Broad shoulders, dark red hair, a glint of gold where eyes should be. He moved like something born of instinct, not thought — silent, precise, dangerous.
Her throat went dry. Her mind screamed run. Her body didn’t listen.
She’d read about them, of course — in books banned from libraries and journals confiscated from her room. Werewolves. The hunters of the wild, the Council’s oldest enemies. But seeing one — seeing one — was nothing like ink and theory.
He was real. Alive. Watching her.
She should run. Everyone would.
Instead, she whispers, “Hello?”
The words trembled out, soft and half-breathless.
His head tilted slightly, predatory. The wolf in him stirred, sensing the tremor in her voice — the fear he’d been raised to smell a mile away. “Humans aren’t supposed to be out here,” he said. His tone was quiet, but there was a bite to it, low and dangerous.
“I know.” She took a hesitant step back but didn’t flee. “I just— I wanted to see if the stories were true.”
“Stories?” His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “What do they say about us? That we eat little girls who wander past fences?”
Her eyes widened. “Do you?”
He blinked once, then laughed — a low, humourless sound that barely reached his eyes. “Not usually.”
The wind shifted. The scent hit him then — warmth, rain, something he couldn’t name. It struck him like a blade to the chest.
Pain flared under his ribs, white-hot, dragging his breath from him. His pulse stumbled. His vision fractured. The world tilted — too close, too loud, too her.
His wolf surged, feral and unrecognisable, snarling like a curse: mate.
Nicholas staggered a step back, teeth bared. “No,” he hissed under his breath. “No. The Moon never makes mistakes like this.” But the pull only tightened, invisible claws sinking deeper, threading into the spaces between heartbeats.
He bit down hard enough to taste blood. Wrong. She’s wrong.
His chest ached like something sacred had been twisted, miscast.
The girl — the human — just stared at him, wide-eyed, not understanding why the stranger before her suddenly looked at her like she’d cursed him.
“You have gold eyes,” she whispered, curious despite the tremor in her voice. “Does that mean anything?”
He looked at her as if she’d spat poison. “It means you should leave,” he ground out, each word forced through clenched teeth.
“I just want to understand—”
“There’s nothing for you to understand,” he snapped. “You shouldn’t even be here.”
Her expression faltered, but she didn’t move. “You’re not what they say,” she murmured after a moment. “You could’ve killed me already.”
His jaw clenched. “Don’t mistake restraint for kindness.”
Silence stretched. The fence creaked between them, rusted metal pressing faint lines into her palms.
Finally, he turned away, disappearing into the dark as quietly as he’d come.
But even after he was gone, the forest still hummed with something alive — like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to her.
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest.
And somewhere, far beyond her understanding, a bond had already begun to take root.
The girl barely had time to gather her sketchbook when the sound of low growls split the night.
Nicholas froze, muscles coiling, eyes narrowing into gold slits. From deeper in the trees, another scent — rough, foreign, predatory — cut through the damp air.
A wolf from another pack, one whose loyalties Nicholas did not know and did not trust, emerged silently, eyes glinting like embers. Its focus was clear: the human crouched just beyond the wardline.
She froze, terror finally bleeding into her movements, but the wolf didn’t hesitate. It lunged.
Nicholas’ first instinct was to turn away.
Not my responsibility. She’s human. Let the wards punish the foolish.
But his wolf did not care for reason. Pain lanced through his chest again, twisting him from the inside. Without thought, without permission, his legs carried him forward, faster than the human could blink.
He collided with the other wolf mid-leap, claws flashing, jaws snapping. The other creature yelped, taken aback by the ferocity, and retreated with a low snarl, disappearing into the shadows from whence it came.
The girl stumbled backward, falling onto her hands. Her eyes were wide, pale lantern-light catching on her damp hair, on her charcoal-stained fingers.
Nicholas loomed over her, teeth bared, chest heaving. Gold eyes locked on her face. Mine, his wolf snarled. Pain and fury tangled together.
“I told you to leave, what are you? Fucking slow?” he hissed, though the command felt hollow in his own ears. Why am I even—why do I care?
“I—I'm sorry!” she stammered, scrambling backward, hands pressed against the wet earth. Her voice trembled, but she didn’t scream. Not yet. Not completely.
Nicholas growled low, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. Every instinct in him screamed stay away, and yet every muscle was taut, poised to act if any other threat came near. His jaw ached, not from the fight, but from resisting the bond that had branded itself across his chest like fire.
Even as her fear throbbed in the air between them, she allowed herself a quick, glancing curiosity. Her gaze flicked to his claws, the ripples of muscle beneath his dark coat, the way his ears tilted like some magnificent animal tuned to her every breath. Despite the danger, her mind whispered questions she could not voice aloud — how could one creature be so beautiful and terrifying? How could a story be so wrong and yet so right?
He finally stepped back, turning his eyes away from her.
No. Not this. Not her. Not now.
He vanished into the shadows, leaving only the memory of his gold gaze burning in her vision.
The girl pressed herself against the damp fence, chest heaving. Her mind spun, caught between terror and disbelief. She had survived, barely, and the world beyond her village was more dangerous than any story had prepared her for.
A soft voice called through the dark. “Ruby? Ruby, where are you?”
The girl’s heart skipped. The warm, familiar sound of her grandmother’s voice carried across the fields. Relief surged. She scrambled to her feet, dashing back toward the wardline, toward safety.
Yet even as she ran, her thoughts wandered: Was he… real? Could the books have been right all along? There’s so much I don’t understand…
Nicholas remained in the shadows, hidden, watching. The pull inside him coiled and thrashed, tearing at his insides as if the Moon Goddess herself had cursed him. He glimpsed her name for the first time — Ruby.
He hated it. He hated knowing her name. He hated that it rang in his ears like a bell marking some impossible fate. He hated the way his wolf refused to let him leave her behind, despite his mind and every principle screaming otherwise.
Ruby reached the last warded fence, the glow of the village spilling onto her face, and finally crossed the invisible line into safety. She waved briefly toward the shadows — unaware of him, unaware that the eyes tracking her every step belonged to someone who simultaneously loathed and could not abandon her.
Nicholas exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening. Pain, frustration, and a primal, unbidden tether all tangled in his chest. He remained until she disappeared inside her home, behind the protective glow of the wardline. Only then did he slip silently back into the forest, muscles coiled, mind a storm of fury, and heart unwillingly tethered to a human he could not yet accept.
Nicholas didn’t head for the den.
His legs carried him elsewhere — through the thick trees, past the line of wardlights that hummed faintly in the distance, until the ground sloped downward and the forest opened to the riverbank.
The current was wild tonight. It clawed at the rocks, catching fragments of the moon in its churning surface. He stood there a long while, breathing hard, his pulse still erratic from the fight — or from her. He didn’t want to think about which.
The ache in his chest came again — sharp, low, and merciless. The mate bond, clawing from the inside. His wolf strained toward it, howling somewhere deep within, begging to go back to the source of that scent. The human.
Nicholas dropped to his knees, gripping the cold earth until dirt filled his claws. “No,” he snarled, half to himself, half to the sky. “You can’t do this. Not with her.”
The moon looked down, pale and silent, her reflection trembling across the black water.
He wanted to tear her out of the sky.
His breath came ragged. “A human?” The word burned like poison. “You think this is funny? You tie me to one of them?”
He laughed then — a hollow, ugly sound. “She’ll die before she even understands what this is. You know that, don’t you? They always do.”
His chest tightened again — a pulse of something raw and electric that sent him doubling over. The wolf inside him howled in agony. Rejection always had a cost. His kind said it was worse than silver poisoning. The more he fought it, the deeper it burrowed — the Moon’s reminder that fate was never meant to be defied.
He pressed a hand to his heart, claws grazing his skin. “I won’t,” he rasped. “You made a mistake. I can't and I won’t.”
But the pull only grew stronger. A phantom scent of rain and charcoal lingered at the edge of his senses.
Mine, the wolf whispered. Never, Nicholas spat back.
He dipped his hands into the river, splashing his face with icy water. The reflection staring back was wild-eyed, exhausted — a man carved from fury and old scars. He could almost hear the voices of his past rising beneath the rush of the current.
They hunt us because they fear us. Humans can’t coexist. They conquer or they kill. Never trust what bleeds easily.
He remembered the smoke. The smell of burning fur. The screams of pups too young to shift. He’d seen his father die with a human’s silver blade in his ribs, his mother torn apart trying to drag him to safety. And when it was over — when the flames died and the humans rebuilt their shining border town — they called it harmony.
Nicholas slammed a fist into the dirt, teeth bared. “Harmony,” he hissed. “You think they want peace? They want us caged. Erased.”
The river gave no answer. The moon only shimmered, distant and indifferent.
He hated that it felt like the Moon was watching him.
He hated that he could still feel the human girl’s presence, soft and fragile and wrong.
And worst of all, he hated that a part of him — the wolf part — ached to protect her anyway.
Nicholas rose slowly, wiping his wet hands on his tunic. The pain dulled, but the emptiness that followed felt worse.
He turned back toward the forest, toward the den, his voice rough in the quiet night.
“Enjoy your little joke, Moon Goddess,” he muttered. “I’ll break your bond before it breaks me.”
Above him, the moon flickered through the clouds — silver and cruel and silent.
The next few nights, it just became worse.
Smoke from the night’s fire still hung low, curling through the rough beams of the ceiling. Outside, the forest hummed faintly — the drip of dew, the rustle of paws through leaves, the sound of the world waking. Inside, wolves moved with purpose: voices low, boots thudding against the earth as Euijoo’s morning debrief began.
Nicholas stood toward the back, arms crossed, head bowed low enough that his dark hair shadowed his eyes. His shoulders felt too heavy — his skin fever-hot, his wolf pacing in his chest like it wanted to claw its way out.
He hadn’t slept. Not really. Every time he closed his eyes, that scent filled the dark again — rain and ink and the faint, human sweetness of her. It wasn’t supposed to feel like that. Not for him. Not for her.
He swallowed hard, jaw tightening. The Moon had made a mistake. He’d said as much to Her face — or at least, to Her reflection in the river days ago, cursing until his voice broke and his reflection stared back with gold-tinged fury.
Now, as Euijoo’s voice droned in the background, Nicholas tried not to show the tremor running down his spine.
“Fuma, you’ll take the southern ridge,” the alpha said, eyes sweeping over the group. “K, the Fae crossings. Jo and Yuma, the border posts by the Shattersea trail. Nicholas—”
Euijoo paused mid-sentence, his brow furrowing. “You look like hell.”
Nicholas’s jaw flexed. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” Yuma said under his breath, earning a sharp elbow from Taki.
Euijoo tilted his head slightly, nostrils flaring. “You’re burning up. Fever?”
“Shift hangover,” Nicholas said curtly. “It’ll pass.”
“Then you’ll patrol the—”
“I’ll go to the town,” Nicholas interrupted.
The den went quiet. Even the fire seemed to crackle louder in the silence that followed.
K blinked from across the room. “You what?”
“I’ll take the town,” Nicholas repeated, voice steady but cold. “We’re short on silverroot and saltstone. I’ll handle it.”
For a second, no one spoke. Fuma let out a quiet, skeptical laugh. “Since when do you volunteer for human work? You hate the town.”
Nicholas’s glare was sharp enough to cut. “I can walk through it without starting a war.”
Maki snorted softly. “Pretty sure the last time you went near the wardline, you almost picked a fight with a priest.”
“He started it,” Nicholas muttered, pulling on his gloves.
Euijoo studied him for a long moment. He’d led Nicholas for years — long enough to know that volunteering for anything human was like asking him to chew glass. But the alpha also knew better than to pry in front of the others. He simply nodded once, though his expression was wary.
“Fine. But you don’t go alone. K—”
“I said I’ll handle it,” Nicholas snapped.
The alpha’s tone dropped, quiet and final. “It wasn’t a suggestion.”
Nicholas bit back a growl, then looked away. “Fine,” he muttered, barely audible. “Whatever.”
“And Nicho?” Euijoo calls as the meeting drawls to an end, “Keep the pack’s head down. No trouble with the humans unless absolutely necessary.”
As the others dispersed, he stood motionless for a beat too long before heading toward the storage alcove — where the pack kept their “human” disguises. The air back there was colder, the silence thicker. He gripped the edge of the table to steady himself, his breathing uneven.
His skin itched beneath the surface — the mate bond rejecting distance, rejecting denial. The wolf inside him howled against it, furious and desperate. He clenched his fists until his knuckles went white.
The scent wouldn’t leave him. It clung to his lungs like smoke.
He grabbed a plain shirt from the stack, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled it over his head. The fabric felt too tight, suffocating. He was halfway through buttoning when K’s reflection appeared in the mirror beside him — quiet, cautious.
“You really gonna tell me what’s going on,” K said gently, “or am I supposed to guess?”
Nicholas didn’t look up. “Nothing’s going on.”
K’s brow creased. “You’re pale as death, sweating through your clothes, and you smell like you’re fighting your own blood. Forgive me if I don’t believe nothing.”
“I told you. Shift hangover.”
“That’s not what this is.” K’s tone softened, cautious. “You’ve been off since last week.”
Nicholas fastened the last button with jerky precision, pretending not to hear him. “You’re imagining things.”
K sighed. “You’ve been growling in your sleep too. And talking.”
That made Nicholas stiffen.
K hesitated, then continued. “You said a name. Ruby.”
The buckle slipped from Nicholas’s fingers and hit the table with a dull metallic clack.
K’s eyes flicked to him, reading the small betrayal of movement. “Who is she?”
“No one,” Nicholas said, too fast. The lie seared his throat. His pulse thudded like a drum.
K raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Because your wolf doesn’t seem to agree.”
Nicholas turned sharply, closing the distance between them in a blink. His golden eyes flashed, anger burning just beneath the fever. “Drop it.”
K didn’t flinch — but his voice stayed steady, low. “I’m not your enemy, Nicho. I’m trying to help.”
“I don’t need help.”
“Well, you need something. Look at you.”
Nicholas stepped back, chest heaving. The truth clawed at him from the inside — the bond aching like a wound he couldn’t stop touching. Every second away from her felt like suffocating under his own skin. But he’d rather bleed than admit it. Especially to K.
“I said drop it,” he repeated, voice rougher this time. “And don’t tell Euijoo.”
K hesitated. “So there is something.”
Nicholas’s lips twitched in something like a snarl. “Drop. It.”
K crossed his arms. “Fine. But if you collapse halfway to town, I’m hauling your ass back myself.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Nicholas muttered, grabbing his cloak and slinging it over his shoulders. The weight of the fabric did little to hide the faint tremor in his hands.
He adjusted the strap of his weapon, refusing to meet K’s gaze. “Tell Euijoo I’ll be back before sundown.”
“What, we splitting up or something?”
Nicholas didn’t answer. He stepped past him, shoulders stiff, and strode toward the den entrance — the cool morning air biting against his fever-warmed skin. The light hit his face as he pushed through the curtain of vines and into the open.
For a long moment, K stayed where he was, watching the spot where Nicholas had stood. Then, softly, he exhaled.
“You idiot,” he murmured to the empty air. “You found your mate, didn’t you?”
The potion burned going down — metallic, bitter, faintly sweet — and Nicholas had to bite back a groan. The effect was immediate: the heavy weight of fur and claws melted into flesh and bone, muscles reshaping, senses dulling to human limits. He blinked once, then again, adapting to the softer vision, the smell of the town’s morning haze — bread, smoke, and something tangy from the river.
It was… wrong. Every part of him itched for the wild, for the forest, for the moon overhead. But the wolf simmered beneath his skin, clawing against his human body, frustrated.
And yet, he needed to be here. Needed her.
The thought alone sent a shiver through his fevered body.
Harua had promised the potion would last until sundown, but Nicholas had no intention of lingering. He had a list: silverroot, saltstone, and the quick exit back to the den.
Nicholas strode through the narrow cobblestone streets, cloak pulled tight around his shoulders, head lowered. He passed humans as they went about their business, and every step reminded him why the pack had stared at him in disbelief: he hated this world. He hated the chaos, the smells, the chatter. He hated how every eye flicked to him with the faint thrill of curiosity or fear.
And he hated that, no matter how hard he tried, he felt… vulnerable.
The shop appeared at the end of the lane: a small, tidy building with herbs displayed in window boxes. Inside, the bell above the door jingled as Nicholas pushed it open.
“Morning,” croaked the old shopkeeper from behind the counter. “Can I help you, sir?”
Nicholas’s wolf recoiled at the word sir. He forced his voice steady.
“Silverroot. Saltstone. Two measures of each.”
The man frowned. “Expensive combination. What do you need them for?”
Nicholas’s patience wavered. “Didn’t ask for questions.”
“Not many folks buy both,” the man pressed, leaning forward. “You a healer? Hunter?”
Nicholas’s pulse thudded. “I said—”
“You from one of the hill villages?” the man interrupted again, eyes narrowing. “You’ve got that look. Wild.”
Nicholas’s grip tightened on the counter, the old wood groaning under his palm. “I don’t have time for this,” he hissed.
The shopkeeper straightened, indignant. “Now see here, boy—” He couldn’t finish his sentence when something loud thumped against his shop’s door.
The old man’s head jerked toward the window. “Not again…”
Nicholas frowned, his wolf stirring beneath the human skin. “What is it?”
“Bloody council protests,” the man muttered, hurrying to the door. “They’ve been going on all week. Superstition’s back in fashion.”
Nicholas followed him out, the sunlight cutting sharp against his eyes. The street beyond was a chaos of movement — townsfolk packed shoulder to shoulder, banners waving, voices clashing like clanging metal.
“Keep our children safe!” “No more beasts in the woods!” “Purge the moon-cursed!”
Nicholas’s jaw clenched, a low growl building in his throat before he caught himself. His body itched for the shift, his teeth ached for violence — but the potion held him tight in human form, forcing every instinct to simmer beneath fragile flesh.
“Idiots,” he muttered under his breath. “You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”
The old man gave him a wary glance. “Don’t go saying things like that, stranger. They’ll string you up for less.”
Nicholas didn’t answer. His gaze had fixed on the edge of the crowd — where movement caught his eye.
There, standing on the steps of the council hall, was a girl.
No — her.
Ruby.
She was in the middle of the crowd, standing on a crate with her sketchbook clutched to her chest. Even from twenty feet away, her dark hair glimmered under the pale sunlight. She wasn’t hiding. She was defiant. The locals around her muttered and sneered, calling her “moon-mad” for insisting the old stories were true, for whispering that the creatures beyond the fences were not as bad as they all though they were.
Ruby lifted her chin as the crowd’s chants rippled through the square. Her hands trembled around the sketchbook, but her voice didn’t waver when she spoke.
“Stop this!” she called out, her words swallowed by the noise. “You don’t even know what you’re fighting against!”
A few heads turned — more out of surprise than respect. Someone near the front barked a laugh.
“Go home, Ruby!” “Still talking to shadows?” “Moon-mad girl’s lost it again!”
Her face flushed, but she didn’t back down. “You say they’re monsters,” she said, louder this time, her voice shaking with something that wasn’t quite fear. “But one of them saved me last night.”
That stilled them. The word saved cut through the noise like a knife. Nicholas felt his body tense, his breath catching somewhere between disbelief and fury.
“Saved you?” a man jeered. “Didn’t eat you, you mean?”
“Probably cursed her while he was at it,” another spat.
Laughter rolled through the crowd like thunder.
Ruby’s knuckles whitened around the edge of her book. “He could’ve killed me,” she said quietly. “He didn’t. That means something.”
The mob didn’t care. A pebble flew first — it struck her shoulder, harmless but sharp. Then another. Then the shouting turned ugly.
“Traitor!” “Send her to the Council!”
Nicholas felt the shift before he realised what was happening. The fever that had been scorching through his blood broke — doused in something cold and raw. His pulse steadied, his vision cleared. The ache in his chest eased.
He hated it.
He hated that the girl’s voice — trembling but unyielding — had silenced the sickness inside him. Hated the way his wolf stirred, not in rage this time, but in recognition. Ours.
“No,” he muttered under his breath. His nails bit into his palms. “Not ours. Never.”
But then a hand shoved Ruby off the crate. She stumbled, her book falling open in the dirt — sketches spilling across the cobblestones, torn pages dancing in the wind. The laughter rose again, cruel and gleeful.
Nicholas didn’t remember moving.
One second, he was in the doorway of the apothecary. The next, he was between Ruby and the mob, his hand snapping out to catch the arm of the man who’d pushed her.
Nicholas’s grip tightened until the other man’s knuckles blanched white. It was an animal hold — no mercy in it, just pressure and the promise of pain.
“Don’t touch her,” he said again, low and dangerous.
“And who the fuck are you?” the man spat, trying to yank his arm free. His friends jeered behind him, emboldened by the noise.
Nicholas felt the heat behind his eyes — not just the fever, but something ferocious and ancient. For a ridiculous second he imagined ripping the man’s arm off like a twig. Euijoo’s voice cut through his head, sharp and reasonable from last night: Keep the pack’s head down. No trouble with the humans unless absolutely necessary. Nicholas had obeyed orders all his life. He could follow one more.
He forced himself to release the man, letting the arm drop with a graceless thud. The human coughed, pushed at his shoulder, then straightened when he saw the look in Nicholas’s eyes. The crowd shuffled, uneasy. The apothecary owner — the old man from the shop — had come back outside, jars abandoned on his counter. He was pale and trembling, but he still managed to scowl at Nicholas.
“You’ll pay for those,” the owner squeaked. “You took herbs. That’ll be two silver roots and—”
Nicholas blinked, irritation flaring. Of all moments. He reached for his coin pouch, fingers numb, and slammed multiple heavy coins into the man’s palm. The old man’s hands shook as he counted them, then bowed slightly as if to get rid of him. The world felt ridiculous and wrong: exchange, civility, bargaining while something in him thrummed like a bloodied drum.
That was when the man who’d shoved Ruby spat.
It cut the air — a wet, contemptuous smear that landed on the back of Ruby’s hand as she scrambled to gather torn pages. The sound of it made something inside Nicholas snap.
He moved before he thought. He was at the man’s side in one stride, and the world narrowed to the smell of sweat and cheap ale and the metallic flash of anger. He yanked the man forward so his face brushed the stone, fingers digging into collar and throat. The man gagged, eyes wide, surprise and fear for a heartbeat replacing his bravado.
Hands closed on Nicholas’s shoulder from behind — a firm, restraining pressure. A voice cut through his teeth-gritted roar: “Easy.” It was K, steady and calm as a stone.
K’s grip said everything Euijoo hadn’t. Don’t escalate. Don’t lose it.
Nicholas forced himself to unfurl, to let the man stumble to his feet. The crowd had gone very quiet, watching as if a storm might break at any moment.
Ruby’s head came up. Her pupils dilated; she squinted through the half-light. Recognition hit her like a breath. “You,” she said, a small, disbelieving smile flickering. “You’re the one—”
Nicholas didn’t let her finish. The wolf could hear the gratitude in her voice before she could shape it into words, and the sensation — the knowledge that she would thank him, that she might look to him with warmth — felt like salt in an open wound.
“Don’t thank me,” he snapped, voice raw. He couldn’t help the edge that dragged. “Just don’t be a loser.” It sounded like an insult and a plea at once.
She blinked, “I’m sorry?”
The crowd had dispersed then, clearly growing tired of the drama.
The small spark of recognition faltering under the weight of his words. “Don’t be a loser?” she repeated softly, as if trying to taste the insult before deciding whether to swallow it or throw it back.
Her hands were still full of torn sketches, pages fluttering in the wind like wounded birds. “You say that,” she said, voice tight, “like I did something wrong by thanking you.”
Nicholas didn’t answer. He stood rigid, the faint tremor in his hands betraying how tightly he was holding himself together. His wolf snarled quietly under his skin, restless and irritated — not at her, not exactly, but at the way her scent seemed to ease the fever one second and worsen it the next. "So you hate humans. I get that. But," Ruby rose to her feet, brushing the dust off her skirt. “Why do you hate me so much?” she asked suddenly. The words broke through the murmuring crowd, cutting the air clean. “What did I do? Out of all the humans in this miserable town, I’m probably the only one fighting for your kind.”
Nicholas’s jaw twitched. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know enough,” she shot back. Her eyes burned — not with fear this time, but frustration. “You think I don’t see what they do to your kind? The way they talk, the laws, the stupid curfews— I’ve seen it all. I’ve stood up for you. And for what? So you can look at me like I’m the dirt under your boots?”
“Ruby,” K interjected gently, stepping between them. He crouched, picking up the last few pages she’d missed, dusting them off before handing them to her.
“Maybe it’s best if you just head home. He’s not—”
But Nicholas’s glare cut him off. “Don’t speak for me.”
Ruby took the papers from K’s hand but didn’t move away. “Then speak for yourself,” she said. “Because I don’t get it. You saved me. Twice. You could’ve let me die both times, and you didn’t. Why?”
Nicholas exhaled sharply, a bitter sound escaping him. “Because, clearly I’m stupid and now I’m stuck in a conversation with you.”
Her eyes softened for a fraction of a second. “You sound like someone who cares.”
He barked out a humourless laugh. “You sound like someone who doesn’t know when to stop talking.”
K’s hand came up again, a quiet warning. “Nicho.”
But Ruby wasn’t backing down. “I thought I was doing the right thing—defending you, defending your kind. You saved my life, and it changed me. You made me see that everything they say about you isn’t true.” Her voice cracked slightly. “So why do you hate me for it?”
Nicholas looked at her then, really looked — the defiance, the sincerity, the small tremor in her lip she was trying so hard to hide. And for a heartbeat, his expression flickered — something like regret crossing his face before it hardened again.
“Because you don’t understand,” he said finally, his voice low, almost quiet.
“You think you’re helping, but people like you… you make it worse. You speak up, you make noise, and then the Council tightens the leash on everyone else. They don’t punish you. They punish us.”
Ruby faltered. “That’s not fair.”
“Nothing about this world is,” Nicholas muttered.
K stepped forward then, placing a hand lightly on Ruby’s shoulder. “Ruby, can we take you home? It’s not—“
“Why do we have to take her home?” Nicholas snapped his gaze to K.
“—as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted. I can tell it’s not too safe for you, Ruby. No pressure, but we gotta head before sundown.”
The path home curved along the quiet edge of town, where lamplight fell in soft pools between cobblestones and the smell of damp leaves clung to the air.
Ruby walked ahead at first, clutching her sketchbook like a shield. K followed easily, still holding her satchel, while Nicholas lingered a step or two behind — close enough to watch, far enough to pretend he didn’t care.
“So,” K said after a stretch of silence, “you always cause riots on purpose, or was today a new hobby?”
Ruby turned her head, a quick, nervous laugh escaping. “Not on purpose. I just couldn’t listen anymore.”
“To what?”
“To people talking about things they don’t understand.” Her voice gained steadiness as she spoke, small hands gesturing for emphasis. “They act like magic’s something filthy. But it’s not — it’s old, it’s real. It’s part of this world, same as us. People just forgot how to see it.”
K hummed thoughtfully. “That’s not something you hear from most humans.”
Ruby shrugged, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe most humans don’t look close enough.”
Nicholas’s jaw twitched. He didn’t want to listen, but her voice had that quiet conviction that made the air between words feel warmer. He caught himself watching the way she moved — the way her fingers tapped the edge of her sketchbook when she was thinking. The faint scent of graphite and lavender ink clung to her clothes. It was annoyingly… human. And yet.
K, oblivious or pretending to be, pressed on. “So what is it about the magical kind that fascinates you? The power? The danger?”
Ruby smiled a little, eyes on the ground. “Neither. I just think they’re misunderstood. Everyone paints them as monsters, but no one asks why they fight back. If people looked past the fear, maybe they’d see something worth protecting.”
That made Nicholas’s wolf stir again — not with anger this time, but something slower. Her words sank into him, disarming, and for a second the noise in his head dulled.
"I've been trying to educate this town about magical creatures but as you can tell," she motions to her torn sketches, "People can be pretty hard-headed and narrow-minded. I wish I could find a way they could see that these creatures are just... misunderstood."
“Misunderstood,” Nicholas muttered under his breath, almost to himself.
Ruby glanced back at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly, eyes forward.
A moment later, a dragonfly buzzed too close to her face. She flinched, almost stumbling. Before she could right herself, Nicholas’s hand shot out, steadying her by the elbow. His touch was firm but fleeting — the calloused drag of his palm leaving her skin tingling even after he pulled away.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
He grunted, looking anywhere but at her.
K caught the exchange, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Careful, Nicholas. You’ll make her think you’re nice.”
Nicholas shot him a glare that could’ve frozen fire.
They walked in silence for a while after that — but it wasn’t the heavy kind. It was something charged, like the quiet before lightning. Time blurred; the road seemed shorter somehow.
The curfew bell split the air — one long, low toll that rolled through the cobblestone streets and into the marrow of Nicholas’s bones.
He froze mid-step, the echo vibrating in his ribs like a warning. K stopped too, eyes darting to the western ridge where the sun was bleeding into the horizon.
The potion’s burn was fading.
That meant trouble.
“Time’s up,” K murmured, voice tight. “We should get off the streets.”
Ruby looked between them, brows knitting. “Off the streets? What’s—”
But her words drowned beneath a sharp cry from the northern gate. Shouting. Steel clashing.
Nicholas’s head snapped toward the sound. Every nerve in his body came alive.
“K,” he said, low. “You hear that?”
K didn’t answer, but the flicker in his ears was enough. He heard it too — the chaos at the border.
And beneath it, faint but distinct, the terrified sob of a child.
They were running before Ruby could blink. Nicholas’s cloak snapped behind him like smoke, K a shadow at his flank.
Ruby hesitated for half a second, then gathered her skirt and chased them, her sketchbook clutched tight to her chest.
The border shimmered faintly where the protective runes met the wild fields beyond — a thin silver haze in the twilight.
And at its edge, chaos reigned.
Seven human soldiers in iron helms surrounded a small, trembling figure — a child with pointed ears and pale, luminescent eyes. An elfling. Barefoot.
Crying.
One of the soldiers held a warded spear, its tip glowing faintly blue.
“She’s crossed the line!” barked a man in uniform. “Council says no trespassers from the woods!”
“She’s a child,” K said sharply, stepping into the open. “She doesn’t understand your lines.”
The soldiers spun around, startled by the strangers. One squinted, lowering his spear. “Who the hell are you?”
“Travellers,” K said evenly. “Let her go.”
The soldier laughed. “You another moon-worshipping freak? Town’s already full of them.” Another soldier took a quick glance at Ruby, “Ruby, I see you got youself a moon mad cult.”
He jabbed the spear closer. The child whimpered.
Nicholas’s patience snapped. “He said let her go.“
The words came out darker, heavier — carrying something not human.
The nearest soldier took a step back, hands up feigning fear, “Oh not the moon mad cult trying to stop us.“
K moved first, trying to diffuse it. “Easy. We don’t want bloodshed—”
But the bell tolled again — shorter this time, sharper.
Nicholas felt the burn surge through his veins. The potion’s last dregs disintegrating. His skin itched. His pulse stuttered.
The human form was failing.
And the wolf — the wolf was done waiting.
The soldiers saw it before he did. The glow beneath his skin. The shift in his eyes.
“Monster!” someone screamed.
Then everything broke.
The first swing came from a sword — clumsy, panicked. Nicholas caught it barehanded, metal slicing across his palm. Blood dripped, but he didn’t feel it. His body was already splitting down the seams — bones rearranging, claws tearing through skin, his growl echoing like thunder through the valley.
“Shit,” K hissed, staggering as his own transformation fought its way through the fading magic. He fell to one knee, clutching his chest — the pain ripping through him like glass. He’d never fully recovered from losing his mate; the change always carved through him slower, crueler.
“K!” Nicholas shouted, half-snarl, half-command.
“Go,” K ground out, eyes glowing amber through the agony. “I’ll catch up—”
But Nicholas was already gone, hurling himself into the fray.
The fight was brutal and short.
Seven men against a wolf twice their size, fur as red as fire. His movements were a blur — claws flashing, jaws snapping, roars echoing off stone. The soldiers’ wards flared blue, but each time one struck him, he came back harder, faster.
It wasn’t a battle. It was an eruption.
Ruby, frozen at the gate, wanted to look away. She couldn’t. The sight was both horrifying and impossible to turn from — a force of nature unleashed.
Then she saw the elf child. Still there, trembling behind a barrel, clutching a torn satchel.
Ruby ran.
She dropped to her knees beside the child, voice trembling but gentle. “Hey, hey — look at me.”
The girl’s eyes were wild, luminous with tears. “Is he killing them?” she whispered.
Ruby shook her head quickly. “No. No, look.” She flipped open her sketchbook, frantic. “Look at this — see? It’s a wolf. That’s him. He’s not a monster. He’s just scared, like you.”
Her hands moved fast, pencil scratching even as her voice shook. She drew Nicholas — the line of his jaw, the glint of his fur, the eyes that were more human than beast. The child blinked, mesmerised. The sound of the fighting dulled in her ears, replaced by the soft rasp of graphite on paper.
But the peace shattered when a torch arced through the air.
It landed in the grass beside them, fire leaping up instantly. Villagers — drawn by the noise — had poured from their homes, clutching pitchforks and clubs.
“Traitors!” they screamed. “Burn the beasts!”
A rock struck Ruby’s shoulder. Another hit her cheek. She shielded the child with her arms, teeth clenched.
Nicholas roared — a sound that silenced the mob. He turned on them, eyes blazing gold in the firelight. The ground shook beneath his paws as he took one step forward — one threat, one warning.
“Enough!”
The word wasn’t quite human, wasn’t quite wolf — a sound that made the villagers stumble back, torches flickering.
Then a second growl answered him.
K rose from the dirt, the transformation finally complete. He was massive — with the palest fur Ruby had ever seen and burning eyes, his chest still heaving from the pain. He staggered, shook once, and then steadied beside Nicholas.
“Time to go,” K rumbled.
Nicholas turned — bloodied, panting — to where Ruby crouched protectively over the elf child. She looked up at him, ash streaking her face, eyes wide and terrified but not of him.
Something inside him stuttered.
She trusted him.
That was all the reason he needed.
He scooped Ruby up in one arm, the child in the other, ignoring her startled gasp. K took the lead, barreling through the burning gate.
Behind them, shouts rose and firelight painted the sky.
Ahead — only forest. Only darkness.
Only the pounding rhythm of paws on dirt and the heavy, tangled breath of three lives that should never have collided.
The forest swallowed them whole.
The shouts of the village died somewhere behind, smothered by the roar of the wind and the pounding of paws against dirt. Ruby clung to Nicholas’s fur — soft, coarse, alive — her face buried in his neck to block out the burning scent of smoke. The elfling in her arms trembled but didn’t cry; her tiny fingers clutching Ruby’s sleeve like a lifeline.
When they crossed the warded border, the air changed. It was cooler, older — thick with moss and the faint hum of magic. The forest floor sloped down into a ravine, where the moonlight caught on slick stone and carved the faint outline of the den: a hidden hollow between roots and cliffs, veiled in fog.
Nicholas slowed, chest heaving. The potion’s aftertaste still burned on his tongue, but the wolf had full command now — flesh mended, adrenaline humming. Behind him, K staggered.
“K,” Nicholas barked low, turning his massive head back.
“I’m fine,” K rasped, but his voice cracked mid-shift. His form was flickering — half-fur, half-flesh, the strain of it pulling him apart. The pain hit him in waves. He stumbled once, twice—
Nicholas shifted before he could fall. Bones snapped, skin stretched, and in seconds he was human again, naked to the waist, his right arm torn from where a blade had grazed him. He caught K by the shoulder, hauling him up, his own breathing jagged.
“Save it,” Nicholas muttered, half-growl. “We’re almost there.”
They crested the ridge — and the den came alive.
Torches flared. Shadows moved. Wolves. Or men? Men with tails? looked up from the fire pit where the pack had been gathered for the night watch. Euijoo, tall and broad-shouldered, was first to spot them. His sharp amber gaze flicked over the scene — Nicholas limping, K bleeding, a human girl in torn skirts clutching a glowing child — and his brow twitched once.
He exhaled. “Guys,” he said slowly. “We have got to stop bringing strays home.”
The silence broke into a low chorus of disbelief.
“Is that— a human?” “An elf child?” “K’s bleeding again—someone get Harua!”
Nicholas ignored them all, lowering Ruby and the child gently to the ground before collapsing against the nearest wall. His right arm was trembling; blood still seeping down his forearm where the sword had cut deep.
Maki appeared out of nowhere, wide-eyed, tail bristling even in human form.
“What did you do, Nicholas?!” He demanded, throwing his hands in the air.
“We send you to get herbs, and you come back with— with these?” He gestured wildly at Ruby and the child. “You are never going near the village again, do you hear me?”
Nicholas grunted. “You’re welcome.”
“Welcome?” Taki shrieked. “For what? Breaking the curfew or causing another human panic?!”
“Enough,” Euijoo said, his voice cutting through the noise. He stepped forward, eyes landing on Ruby. “Human.”
Ruby blinked, her voice small but steady. “Ruby.”
“Ruby,” Euijoo repeated, testing the name like it was a foreign object. “Do you have any idea where you are?”
Ruby swallowed. “A wolf den,” she said, almost to herself. Then louder, shakier: “You’re… real.”
A few of the younger wolves snorted. Harua, the pack’s healer, elbowed his way through the group and dropped to his knees in front of Ruby, eyes sweeping over her like a scanner. “Any injuries?”
“I—I don’t think so,” Ruby stammered.
Harua was already dabbing at a scrape on her cheek with a cloth that smelled of mint and metal. “You’re lucky. Most humans don’t make it this far.”
He paused, his gaze softening as he caught sight of the elfling pressed against Ruby’s side. “Oh, stars above…”
The child’s silver eyes blinked open. She flinched when Harua reached out.
“No,” she whispered, clutching Ruby tighter.
Ruby held her protectively. “It’s okay. She’s scared.”
Fuma, the Beta, folded his arms. “What exactly happened out there?” His voice was low, measured, but there was steel beneath it.
Nicholas didn’t look up. “Human soldiers,” he said flatly. “They tried to take the elfling across the border. We stopped them.”
“And the human?” Fuma asked, nodding at Ruby.
“She was there,” K rasped, his voice raw as he leaned against the wall.
“Defended the child. Defended us.”
That made the room go quiet.
Harua’s hands paused on Ruby’s cheek. Maki’s mouth opened, then closed again. Even Euijoo’s eyes softened a fraction.
Ruby felt the weight of their gazes — the disbelief, the unease — and hugged the child closer. The smell of pine and smoke filled her nose. The wolves around her were beautiful and terrible all at once, their eyes gleaming in the half-light, their presence too large, too real.
She couldn’t breathe.
The den was warm, but she felt cold all over.
Nicholas’s voice broke through the silence. “She’s not the enemy,” he said quietly.
Jo turned to him, one brow raised. “Funny, coming from you.”
Nicholas glared but didn’t rise to it. The flicker of movement beside him — the way Ruby was gently stroking the elfling’s hair, murmuring something soft — shut him up faster than Euijoo’s authority could.
Harua stood, brushing off his hands. “She’s in shock,” He said briskly. “And the child too. Let them rest.”
Euijoo nodded once, then looked to Nicholas. “And you. You’ve got blood on your arm and your pride’s half-gone. Fuma, patch them up.”
Yuma crossed his arms. “And what about her?”
All eyes turned to Ruby again.
Euijoo exhaled, long and slow. “She stays,” he said finally. “Until we figure out what the hell happened out there.”
Ruby’s heart hammered. “Stays?”
Nicholas didn’t meet her eyes. “It’s safer here than out there.”
That was all he said — but something in his tone made Ruby’s breath catch. The walls of the den seemed to close around her, thick with heat and the musky scent of wolves. She could feel the tension in the air — curiosity, suspicion, maybe even a sliver of acceptance.
She glanced down at the child in her lap, now fast asleep. Her fingers trembled as she brushed a strand of pale hair from the girl’s face.
“Alright,” she whispered. “Just for tonight.”
From across the fire, Nicholas watched her — the human who shouldn’t have been there, the girl whose scent still clung to his senses like wildflowers after rain.
His wolf stirred, restless.
Ours, it whispered again.
And for the first time in a week, Nicholas didn't find himself fighting back.
The den had a heartbeat.
It pulsed low and deep, through stone and soil and air — the thrum of life that belonged only to wolves. Ruby sat near the back chamber, the faint scent of pine and smoke thick around her, clutching a cup of something warm Harua had forced into her hands.
Her pulse hadn’t slowed since they arrived.
From the adjoining room, raised voices echoed — Euijoo’s calm, commanding tone and Fuma’s cooler, deliberate cadence. Then K’s rougher, weary one. And Nicholas. His was the lowest — steady, clipped — but the moment she heard it, her stomach twisted.
He sounded better. Stronger.
And even though she didn’t understand half of what they were talking about — wards, council jurisdiction, traces of glamour — the tension told her enough. Whatever happened at the village… wasn’t going away quietly.
“—it’s going to lead straight back to us if they find the tracks,” Fuma said, his voice sharp even through the wall.
“They won’t,” Nicholas replied. “I covered the scent trail before we crossed the border.”
“You shouldn’t have crossed the border at all,” Euijoo cut in. “You and K both broke curfew. The council’s been itching for an excuse to monitor this territory.”
There was a pause. Then the sound of a chair scraping.
“She’s human,” Fuma added, quieter now. “And she’s in our den. That alone could cost us.”
Ruby’s fingers tightened around the cup.
“She saved the child,” Nicholas said.
The silence that followed was deafening.
It shouldn’t have mattered, but the way he said it — low, firm, as if daring them to argue — made Ruby’s throat close up.
A soft voice broke through her spiralling thoughts.
“You look like you’re about to bolt.”
Ruby turned. Jo leaned against the entrance, a cup in his own hand, easy smile softening the sharpness of his amber eyes. He had that kind of relaxed energy that made her think of sunlight filtering through trees — the opposite of Nicholas’s storm.
“They’re not going to eat me, are they?” she muttered.
Jo chuckled. “Depends who you ask. Maki might.”
Ruby gave a short, nervous laugh. “I should… go. I don’t belong here.”
“Too late for that,” Jo said lightly, nodding toward the hall. “Nicholas said you can use his room for now. The pack’s still figuring out what to do with you and the kid.”
Ruby blinked. “Nicholas said that?”
Jo smirked. “Yeah. Which is weird, by the way. He doesn’t even let me touch his stuff.”
Ruby followed him through a narrow tunnel lined with moss and soft lamplight. The deeper they went, the more she could feel the pack’s eyes on her — curious, wary. Wolves paused mid-conversation, their gazes following the human girl wrapped in a borrowed cloak.
Nicholas’s room was simple — rough stone walls, a wooden desk stacked with maps and journals, a bed built into the alcove with thick furs. It smelled like cedar and smoke and something warm she couldn’t quite name.
Jo gestured around. “It’s not much, but it’s the warmest room in the den. He said you can rest here.”
Ruby hovered near the doorway unable to process what Jo just said, “He fucking hates me, doesn’t he?”
Jo barked out a laugh. “Don’t take it personally. Nicholas hates everyone.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “He even hates my mate half the time, but he’s coming around. Just takes him a few… decades.”
Ruby blinked. “Mate?”
“Ah, right. Human,” Jo said with a grin. “It’s… complicated. Wolves have mates — bonds chosen by instinct, by magic. It’s like your heart recognising someone as yours.”
Ruby’s brow furrowed. “And you have one?”
“Syrena,” he said, the edge of a smile tugging at his lips. “Siren, full of trouble. I brought her back to the den when she washed up on our shores injured, stubborn and too pretty for her own good.”
“And now?”
“Now I can’t imagine breathing without her.”
Ruby smiled faintly, but her voice was small when she said, “Must be nice. Being chosen like that.”
Jo tilted his head, studying her. “You sound like you know something about it.”
Ruby hesitated, tracing the rim of the cup. “I don’t. I just… I think magical beings are misunderstood. Everyone acts like you’re monsters, but from what I’ve seen, humans can be worse.”
Jo’s expression softened. “That’s not something most humans would admit.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I’m not like most humans.”
A beat. Then Jo said, “Then maybe Nicholas doesn’t hate you as much as you think.”
Ruby looked up sharply. “What makes you say that?”
Jo smiled knowingly. “If he’s letting you use his bed, you’re already halfway past his walls. The rest of us had to bleed for that privilege.”
Ruby flushed, caught off guard. “You’re joking.”
“Not even a little.”
For a moment, they both laughed — the first genuine sound in hours. But it faded when voices rose again from down the hall.
“Do you think he’ll be in trouble?” Ruby asked quietly. “Nicholas, I mean.”
Jo’s grin softened into something like fond exasperation. “Nicholas is always in trouble. He’ll survive it. He always does.”
He straightened, turning toward the door. “Rest. I’ll have Harua bring food when he’s done scolding K for bleeding on his floor again.”
Ruby gave a small nod. “Jo?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He smiled, eyes bright. “Don’t thank me yet. Wait till Nicholas finds out you messed up his sheets.”
And with that, he was gone.
Ruby sank down onto the edge of the bed, tracing the rough stitching of the furs. She could still hear the muffled voices down the corridor, the restless shuffle of the pack beyond. Somewhere in that chaos, Nicholas was probably pacing, arguing with the Alpha.
But here, surrounded by his scent, by warmth that wasn’t hers — her chest ached with something she couldn’t name.
Outside, the forest wind howled softly through the den’s tunnels, and for the first time since she arrived, Ruby felt her eyelids grow heavy.
K hit the ground before anyone realised he was falling.
The sound of it — flesh against stone — cracked through the den, sharp enough to cut conversation clean in half.
Jo was there first, swearing as he caught K under the shoulders. “Hey—hey—easy—”
K’s body trembled violently, teeth clenched so hard it looked like his jaw might shatter. His shift hadn’t healed right. It never did anymore. His muscles spasmed, wolf instincts tearing against a body that could no longer keep up.
Harua dropped to his knees beside him, hands already glowing faintly. Then — just as quickly — the glow flickered, sputtered… and went out.
“No,” Harua breathed. He pressed his fingers to K’s side, where dark bruising bled through cloth. “This is bad.”
Euijoo turned fully now, all attention snapping to the fallen wolf.
“What happened to you,” the Alpha demanded quietly, “on the way back.”
K laughed once — a brittle, broken sound. “You should see the other guy.”
Harua shook his head. “Multiple fractures. Internal bruising. His ribs never fully reset after the last shift. And his healing is—” He swallowed. “—slowed. Drastically.”
The den stirred uneasily.
Everyone knew why.
A wolf without his mate was a wolf in constant withdrawal.
Euijoo crouched, gripping K’s chin firmly enough to force his gaze up. “Look at me.”
K did.
His pupils were blown wide. Fever-sweat clung to his skin. Pain had hollowed him out.
“You’re dying in pieces,” Euijoo said.
Not unkindly. Not softly.
K closed his eyes. “I know.”
“That ends now,” Euijoo said. “You don’t get to fall apart while the pack is under threat.”
Nicholas looked away.
Fuma straightened from where he’d been listening, his expression grim. “Alpha,” he said, voice clipped, “we need to talk about fallout.”
“Go on.”
“The human council will use this,” Fuma said. “They already fear us. Now they’ll claim we crossed the wardlines, interfered in human affairs, and abducted a citizen.”
Nicholas cursed. “They never cared about Ruby. Not once.”
“Truth doesn’t matter,” Fuma replied. “Narrative does.”
A low murmur rippled through the pack.
“We’re already down one packmate,” Harua added quietly. “K can’t patrol. And now we have…” He glanced toward the inner tunnels. “…more to protect.”
The elfing whimpered softly somewhere deeper in the den.
“And a human,” Maki muttered.
Nicholas’s head snapped up, a warning snarl curling his lip before he could stop it.
Euijoo caught it.
“Enough,” the Alpha said, voice cracking like thunder. “This isn’t the time.”
Before anyone could respond—
The den doors opened again.
This time, two figures entered at once.
Taki and Yuma, breathless, mud-splattered, eyes bright with urgency.
Taki spoke first. “Human movement confirmed on the eastern border. Armed. Coordinated. They’re waiting for something.”
Yuma didn’t wait for the echo to fade.
“The council knows Ruby’s gone,” he said. “They’re demanding answers. Accusing us of defiance. Of breaking treaty.”
The room exploded.
“What?” “That fast?” “They’re blaming us already—”
“They’re calling it an abduction,” Yuma finished. “And they’re not alone.”
Euijoo stood slowly.
“Levathians?” he said.
Yuma nodded grimly. “They’ve taken some potion to mask themselves amongst the humans but it’s them. I can smell their rotting flesh — sweet and wrong beneath the human stink.”
He continued,,“They’re fanning the panic. Whispering that the Veil is weakening. That wolves are preparing to rise.”
Nicholas’s stomach dropped.
Fuma ran a hand through his hair. “If the Levathians exploit this—”
“They’ll use the humans as cover,” Euijoo finished. “And strike both sides.”
Harua’s voice trembled. “We’re not ready.”
Euijoo’s gaze hardened.
“We don’t get ready,” he said. “We respond.”
He turned to Taki. “Double patrols. Silent rotation.”
To Yuma. “Send word to our allies. Quietly.”
Then his eyes found Nicholas.
“And you,” Euijoo said carefully, “are officially a liability.”
The words cut deeper than claws.
“You will not leave the den unless I order it.”
Nicholas said nothing. Silence was the only thing keeping his wolf from tearing the walls down.
Because somewhere inside these walls was his mate — human, fragile, hated — and outside them, the world was sharpening its knives.
And for the first time in generations, the pack realised:
This wasn’t a border dispute.
This was the beginning of a war.
Nicholas didn’t mean to wake her roughly.
But time was already bleeding out of them.
He stopped at the threshold of his room, chest tight at the sight of her curled into the furs — too small for the danger pressing in from all sides. The elfing was tucked against her side, fingers knotted in her sleeve, breathing in soft, uneven pulls.
For a moment, Nicholas just stood there.
Then he knelt and shook her shoulder once. Firm. Controlled.
“Ruby.”
She startled awake with a sharp inhale, eyes flying open — already scrambling, already bracing.
“It’s okay,” he said immediately. Too fast. “You’re safe. Quiet.”
That made her pause.
She blinked, disoriented. “Nicholas…?”
The elfing stirred, whimpering softly. Ruby’s arm came up instinctively, shielding the child before she was fully conscious.
Nicholas noticed. Of course he did.
“Listen to me,” he said, voice low. Not unkind — just urgent. “We don’t have much time.”
Her heart kicked hard against her ribs. “What’s wrong?”
“Humans are moving on the borders,” he said. No embellishment. No panic. “The Council’s claiming we kidnapped you. Levathians are involved.”
Her breath hitched. “Lev— what?”
“Later,” he cut in, not sharply, but decisively. “What matters is this: things are about to get worse.”
“Wait, Leviathans are real?” She pushed herself upright, furs slipping from her shoulders. “This is my fault,” she whispered. “I knew they’d do this. I knew they’d twist it—”
“Stop.”
The word cut clean through her spiral.
She looked at him. Really looked.
Nicholas hadn’t raised his voice. He hadn’t touched her again. But his gaze had locked onto hers, steady and unyielding.
“Breathe,” he said. “You’re safe. Right now.”
Her chest stuttered once, twice. She inhaled shakily.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Again.”
She obeyed before she even realised she was doing it.
“There,” he said. “Good.”
Nicholas was still stone-still, still guarded — but his eyes were intent now, anchored on her face like he was holding her in place by sheer will.
“This is not on you,” he said. “They were looking for an excuse. You just happened to exist.”
“That’s not comforting for someone who's panicking,” she breathed.
“Then don’t panic,” he replied. “It wastes time.”
She swallowed, fingers curling into the blanket. “What happens now?”
Nicholas exhaled slowly, measured. “The pack is preparing for conflict. I’ve been ordered to stay in the den.”
Her gaze flicked up sharply. “You? Ordered?”
“Yes.”
“That’s bad,” she said immediately.
His jaw tightened. “It’s necessary.”
“And me?” Her voice dropped. “What am I supposed to do?”
Nicholas hesitated — just long enough to betray him.
“You stay with me.”
The words came out flat, final.
Ruby stared. “But you just said you can’t leave the den, what if they need me to evacuate or what if—”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t protect you,” he replied.
Her pulse spiked. “Nicholas—”
He leaned closer then, bracing one hand against the floor beside her knee. Not touching her. Never touching. But close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the steadiness.
“Ruby,” he said quietly, and her name sounded different in his mouth — like a vow he hadn’t meant to make. “I don’t have many options right now. But this is one of them.”
Her chest tightened. “You can’t promise me that.”
“I don’t make promises,” Nicholas said. “I make decisions.”
He stood, offering her a hand only after a brief hesitation — as if he hadn’t planned to, but couldn’t not.
“Get dressed. Stay close to me. If things escalate, you do exactly what I say.”
The elfing shifted again, pressing closer into her side. Ruby wrapped an arm around the child automatically, eyes never leaving Nicholas.
“They’re going to come here, aren’t they?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And you can’t fight them.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Not unless I’m ordered to.”
“And if they hurt you? Or the pack?”
Nicholas’s expression hardened — something feral flashing beneath the surface. “Then orders stop mattering.”
The way he said it made her believe him.
Her breathing went uneven, panic creeping back in around the edges. “I’m just human,” she whispered. “I can’t fight Levathians or soldiers or even the council, they weren’t listening to me before. I don’t even know how to survive this world.”
Nicholas straightened slightly — then, unexpectedly, he reached out and placed his hand over hers.
The contact was brief. Grounding. Real.
“You survived the woods,” he said. “You survived them.”
Her eyes burned. “Barely.”
“Still counts.”
She let out a shaky laugh that dissolved halfway into a breath. “You’re very bad at reassurance.”
“I know.”
“But you’re trying,” she said softly.
His hand withdrew at once, as if he’d crossed a line. His face closed off again — but the damage was done.
A horn sounded.
Low. Long. Human.
Nicholas’s head snapped up.
Every wolf in the den went still — ears pricking, spines stiffening, breath held. The sound wasn’t a warning.
It was a summons.
Ruby felt it before she understood it. The air changed — thickened — like the forest itself was bracing.
“That’s them, isn’t it,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Nicholas said.
He turned away from her first — sharp, controlled — already shifting into motion. “Stay behind me.”
She didn’t argue. The way he said it didn’t allow for debate.
They moved fast through the den’s tunnels, the pack flowing around them in tense silence. No battle cries. No bravado. Just readiness — the kind born from knowing things were about to go wrong.
They emerged at the wardline as torches flared to life.
Humans stood in a jagged line beyond the boundary stones — armed, armoured, angry. Pitchforks. Blades. Crossbows lifted with shaking hands.
And hatred.
Euijoo stepped forward, chest lifted, aura tight as steel. The humans wavered under the sight of the Alpha, yet none dared move back.
“Step aside,” one captain barked, pointing a crossbow with trembling hands. “Return the girl. Now.”
“Return the girl?” Euijoo’s voice was low, ice-laced. “She is not missing. She is not taken. She has never been in your custody. Stop pretending otherwise.”
A soldier spat at the ground. “You beasts—moon-cursed monsters—think you can walk among us, hide what you do. You take our children, our people, our women!”
“Enough,” Euijoo’s growl carried over the murmuring line, and yet his patience was fraying. “I will not tolerate lies. No treaties are broken here except by your hatred.”
“Hatred?!” A man stepped forward, face flushed. “We live in fear because of your kind! Every night we hear your howls—every night we pray we survive!”
“Fear does not justify murder,” Euijoo said. “You speak of fear, yet you come armed to intimidate a family of innocent creatures. Explain that.”
“Family?” A woman sneered, sneering with open contempt. “That human, standing there with you… she is one of us!”
“She is one of your kind because she is human. She is also one of us because she is safe.”
The humans’ murmurs turned to a loud chorus of accusations. Euijoo’s jaw tightened. The line of humans shifted — tense, twitching. They were ready to strike, but hesitated under the Alpha’s aura… until one of them, a young soldier, snapped.
A Levathian dropped the human skin like peeling cloth. Its true form shimmered in the firelight — blackened flesh, ragged wings, eyes like smoldering coals. It didn’t hesitate. The human beside it froze for a heartbeat… then the Levathian sank teeth into his throat, ripping flesh and sinew clean. Blood spattered across the cobblestones, and the man’s scream cut off mid-choke.
Pandemonium ignited instantly.
“Kill it!” the humans shouted. Panic-stricken, they turned their weapons toward the wolves, forgetting that the real threat was no longer among them.
Euijoo’s roar split the air. “Protect the humans! Do not kill, I repeat, do NOT kill.”
Wolves surged forward, moving like liquid shadows. Muzzle and claw, they shoved humans out of the way, pulling them away from the Levathian before more blood could be spilled.
Nicholas’s senses flared. He didn’t think. He acted. A soldier lunged at Ruby, blade raised. He grabbed the man’s wrist, twisted it until the weapon clattered away. His other hand knocked the soldier to the ground, teeth gritted, muscles taut.
Nearby, Maki ripped a crossbow from another human’s hands, smashing it against the stones. Fuma barreled into two soldiers at once, throwing them back with a feral roar making Harua stare at him midfight.
“What?” Fuma dodges a punch. “Euijoo said don’t kill. He didn’t say I couldn’t hurt them.”
The Levathians moved with chaos in their veins, tearing indiscriminately, using human panic as cover. Smoke and fire from torches caught the edge of their wings, sending sparks flying into the crowd.
Ruby shrieked as a torch landed near her furs. Nicholas shoved her behind him again, arm brushing hers — grounding, protective. Her eyes locked with his. His stare said: You survive. I will make sure of it.
A Levathian clawed its way toward the wardline, taking down a soldier before Taki intercepted. Nicholas moved like a shadow, striking and blocking in equal measure. The humans didn’t know who to fight; the wolves weren’t just attacking—they were protecting.
But the Levathians weren’t just fighting—they were sowing terror. One lunged at a human soldier, no older than 15, scared to their wits holding a machete; Nicholas dove, shoving Ruby and the elfing aside, and the Levathian’s claws scratched the stones inches from their heads.
“Run!” he barked, voice rough, but steady, and for the first time Ruby felt the full weight of his intensity. It was not optional. It was survival.
Through the chaos, the humans’ weapons began to misfire, their fear clouding their aim. Yet still, some struck out blindly, some lunged at the wolves. Nicholas and Euijoo worked in tandem, tearing, shoving, redirecting — the pack a perfect, terrifying unit.
But fire, screams, and blood made the battlefield collapse into chaos. Nicholas’s teeth were bared, his hands slick with human and wolf alike.
Then Ruby was yanked away. Not by him — by the momentum of the crowd, the smoke, the Levathians’ indiscriminate violence. She fell behind debris. She screamed.
“Ruby!” Nicholas lunged, teeth snapping at air, reaching for her — but she disappeared into the maelstrom.
Chaos reigned. Wolves screamed. Humans panicked. Levathians feasted. And somewhere inside Nicholas, the wolf roared — not at humans, not at Levathians, but at fate itself.
Smoke and screams choked the streets. Sparks from torches clung to the cobblestones, hissing when they touched the blood-slicked ground. Wolves moved like shadows, limbs coiled for strike and defense. Nicholas’s heart pounded, senses stretched past human limits, eyes darting for Ruby.
He spotted her. The elfing clutched her sleeve, small hands trembling. But the crowd of panicked humans and the screeching Levathians shifted around them like a tidal wave.
Then a human soldier lunged, shoving Ruby violently forward. She stumbled, shrieking, and the elfing slipped from her arms. Time slowed. Nicholas’s mind split: one half screaming to save Ruby, the other — the wolf inside — clawing toward the child.
Even battered, K surged through the chaos, catching the elfing mid-fall. He gritted his teeth against the pain twisting through him, ribs protesting with every movement.
“Go!” K rasped, voice raw. “Save… your mate!”
Nicholas froze. His jaw tightened. K had known. All along. K had known who she was — and had made the choice for him.
Ruby screamed as a soldier grabbed her, dragging her away. She thrashed, kicking, clawing at the grip, eyes wild with terror.
“RUBY!” Nicholas’s voice cut through the noise, low and feral. He sprinted. Faster than thought, faster than any human could perceive. The streets blurred, sparks flying across his path, soldiers screaming, wolves snarling and snapping in the background.
“Stand down!” Euijoo’s roar cracked the air, but Nicholas didn’t slow.
“Nicholas!”
He didn’t. Couldn’t. Every ounce of him was consumed by the need to reach her, to protect her. The human soldier tightened his hold, trying to push her toward the fleeing troop, but Nicholas was there in a heartbeat, hands like iron.
He slammed into the soldier, twisting him off Ruby and sending him sprawling into the cobblestones. Nicholas grabbed Ruby, pressing her against his chest, keeping her shielded from the chaos around them. Her breath came in panicked gasps, hair plastered to her face with sweat and ash.
“I’m here,” Nicholas said, voice low, deadly calm. “I’ve got you. Don’t scream. Don’t fight anyone else. Just stay with me.”
“Ni—Nicholas!” Ruby’s voice trembled, tears streaking her dirt-smeared face. “They—they’re killing everyone!”
“I know,” he murmured. His jaw flexed. He scanned the chaos: Levathians tearing through humans, wolves redirecting attacks, the den under siege.
Nothing could stop him from getting her to safety.
Nicholas’s lips pressed into a hard line. The wolf in him surged — instincts, bond, survival — all demanding he put himself between Ruby and everything that could harm her.
He sprinted, weaving between soldiers and panicked villagers, Ruby clinging to him like her life depended on it. Sparks from burning torches hissed along his cloak. A Levathian lunged, but Nicholas pivoted, letting the wolf inside him react with lethal precision, claws and teeth striking where he couldn’t reach with human hands.
“Move!” he barked, voice rough, raw, carrying authority even in chaos. Ruby pressed herself closer, clinging to him as if she could fuse into his body, and for a fraction of a heartbeat, he let himself feel the bond settle — not just instinct, but recognition, connection.
Behind them, K staggered, the elfing clutched tight against him. The wolf’s breaths came ragged, ribs sharp with pain, muscles trembling. But the child was safe. K’s eyes met Nicholas’s across the battlefield, and the silent communication was clear: She’s yours. Keep her alive.
Nicholas’s teeth clenched. I will.
The human troop tried to regroup, but now panic rippled through their ranks.
Levathians had revealed themselves. Wolves and humans alike were entangled in chaos, yet Nicholas didn’t hesitate. Every movement was precise, every step calculated, all for the one fragile human he couldn’t allow to die.
The streets blurred in firelight and blood, and for once, orders didn’t matter. Bond did. Survival did. And right now, Ruby’s life was all that mattered.
The chaos didn’t slow. The clatter of metal, the screams of humans, and the guttural snarls of wolves filled the air. Nicholas’s arms tightened around Ruby, every inch of him bristling with controlled ferocity. The Levathians surged forward, black-scaled limbs whipping, jagged teeth tearing, claws rending stone and flesh alike.
Then — a pause.
The humans caught it too. Confusion flickered over their fear, but then recognition dawned: the wolves weren’t the threat. The Leviathians were.
“Hold your ground!” a human officer shouted. “The wolves aren’t killing us — they’re protecting us!”
A human soldier, mid-swing, froze. His eyes widened as another Levathian leapt past him, claws aimed for his throat. And it stopped — cocking its head, strange hesitation in its movements. A low, guttural hiss escaped the creature.
The sound cut through the air like ice. Wolves froze mid-leap, ears flattening. Nicholas’s hackles rose. Leviathians didn’t speak. Never. The realisation hit like a thunderclap — they had learned speech from a species that knew language. A species completely taken over.
Fuma’s growl joined Euijoo’s roar, wolves fanning out around the humans, teeth bared, claws shredding armor and flesh. Nicholas ripped a Levathian’s limb clean from its torso, blood spraying like a storm. Ruby flinched at the sight but clung to him tightly, grounding him, forcing him back into control when the rage threatened to overtake.
The street became a nightmare of teeth, claws, and metal. Limbs flew. Scales were shredded. A Levathian’s jaw snapped shut on a human’s sword hilt — it wailed, thrashing as wolves tore it apart limb by limb. K, despite his fractured body and sluggish recovery, lunged at another, slamming it against a wall and dragging it away from the humans before it could strike. Harua’s light stitched wounds almost instantly broke, and K’s body screamed in protest, bruises deepening with every movement.
Humans slowly joined the wolves in coordinated attacks. Soldiers who had pointed their blades at the den moments before now found themselves fighting side by side with teeth and claws. Ruby watched, wide-eyed, as soldiers blocked a Leviathian’s strike only for Nicholas to drive a foot through its chest. The creature’s scream — unnatural, wet, tearing — echoed in the alleyways, chilling and inhuman.
“Push them back!” Euijoo bellowed. “Do not give ground!”
The Leviathians faltered. Outnumbered. Outmaneuvered. Some stumbled, claws flailing blindly. One exploded into the sea when Nicholas and Fuma coordinated a pincer strike, leaving only dark water behind. Another hissed in fury, spitting at a human soldier, then vanished in a whirl of shadow toward the surf.
The remaining Leviathians glanced at each other, then back at the overwhelming force of combined human and wolf might. Their sharp claws retracted, fangs snapping shut. One more step forward, then it froze. Its lips peeled back in a snarl, then it repeated, guttural and alien:
“Retreat. We… will be… back.”
The words echoed across the streets. Silence fell for a heartbeat before the remaining Leviathians retreated, their black shapes sliding into the waves, leaving a trail of blood and broken stone behind.
Nicholas lowered himself to the ground, chest heaving, furs and clothes soaked in blood and grime. Ruby clung to him, small and human against his towering, wolf-enhanced frame. She pressed her face into his shoulder, shivering.
Nicholas’s hands went to her arms, steadying her, eyes scanning her face. The war raging outside barely touched them here, and for a fleeting second, the storm paused.
Ruby dared to move closer, fingers brushing the blood-stained furs at his chest. “Nicholas…” she whispered again.
He caught her gaze, jaw tightening. The cold, stoic mask was gone, replaced by something feral, protective, and aching. “We're okay,” he said, voice soft, almost intimate. “Don’t let go.”
She didn’t. Not for a second.
Outside, Euijoo and the humans were exchanging tense, shouting words. The humans’ weapons were still raised, but their faces bore recognition now — the wolves weren’t the threat. A truce, shaky and prejudiced, formed in that heat-soaked street.
“Temporary,” Euijoo shouted to his pack, scanning the retreating Leviathians. “They’ll be back.”
The den was quiet now, the chaos of the streets fading into distant echoes. Wolves padded over broken stone and soot-streaked fur, tending wounds and checking the barricades. K was wrapped in furs in a corner, groaning softly, still healing as slow as ever. Euijoo and Fuma huddled over a map, voices low, debating Council fallout.
Nicholas didn’t look at any of it. He was focused entirely on Ruby. She sat on a pile of furs, the elfing in her arms, knees drawn close. Her hair was mussed, cheeks streaked with ash and blood, yet she had survived.
He crouched in front of her, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed. “You’re still here,” he said, almost to himself.
Ruby tilted her head. “I didn’t go anywhere.”
“You could’ve been killed,” he said quietly. “I… I won’t let it happen again.”
She blinked at him, uncertain how to respond. He studied her instead, the way she flinched at the faintest sound, the way her fingers lingered on the elfing, the way her eyes took in the den.
“You confuse me,” he said finally, voice low, steady, deliberate. “I spent the past few nights hating the moon, because it reminded me of what I thought I wanted. My mate… I thought she’d be the exact mirror of me. I thought she’d be me.”
Ruby’s breath hitched. “You—you mean… me?”
He nodded. “But it’s you. And… I don’t know how, but I’m okay with that.”
She swallowed hard. “Okay with… what?”
Nicholas’s gaze softened, just enough. “You’re… not what I expected. But that doesn’t matter. You—” He paused, as though measuring his words. “—you don’t have to accept it. This… bond.”
Ruby frowned.
“Mate,” he said, the word clipped, wolfish, but earnest. “I didn’t accept it at first either. I fought it. Didn’t think it could exist outside of the rules. But it’s real. And if you accept it… then I swear, I’ll keep you safe. Nothing will hurt you while I’m here.”
Her chest tightened. “And if I don’t?”
He shrugged, stoic as always, but not dismissive. “Then… nothing changes. You can leave. You don’t owe me anything. I’ll… survive.”
Ruby’s fingers traced the blood-stained furs at his chest. “And if I do?”
Nicholas let out a long, low breath. His wolf instincts hummed beneath his skin, alert, possessive, protective. “Then you stay close. Always. And I’ll stay close to you. Always.”
She blinked at him. Words failed. The firelight flickered across his sharp features, softening the edge just enough. He reached out — just his hand, brushing against hers, grounding her. Not a caress, not a gesture of indulgence — a simple, firm connection, a promise made through touch alone.
Ruby leaned into him instinctively, small and human against his wolf-enhanced frame. The elfing stirred, nuzzling closer, and Nicholas’s other hand went to her shoulder, steadying her.
“You’ll be safe,” he said again, voice low, almost a whisper, but absolute. “I mean it. No one—nothing—will get to you while I’m here.”
She looked up at him, eyes wide, and for the first time, Nicholas allowed the faintest curve of a smile to touch his lips. Not because he was soft, not because he had changed entirely, but because this human — this chaotic, fragile, stubborn human — had claimed a space inside him he didn’t expect.
“Stay,” he said finally, the word simple, commanding, honest. “Stay here. With me.”
Ruby nodded, leaning closer, letting him anchor her. The world outside could wait. The streets, the Council, the Leviathians — all of it would still exist. But for this moment, in the quiet of the den, under the faint light of stars sneaking through cracks in the ceiling, Nicholas and Ruby existed only for each other.
And for the first time, he understood that being a mate didn’t mean losing control — it meant choosing her. Every day, every fight, every night under the moon.
He would choose her. Always.
©inkedbysonny
Currents In The Moon
✐ᝰ word count: 10.9k ✐ᝰ genre: fantasy, romance, slow burn, action, werewolf!jo, siren!oc, mythic worldbuilding ✐ᝰ warnings: mild violence, mentions of blood/injury, near-drowning, fantasy war themes, cursing, the rest of the &team members make an appearance, Nicholas is kinda mean ✐ᝰ author's note: introducing something i've been brewing for abit! here's part 1 of the veilbourne saga — each story can be read standalone, but reading in order definitely helps build the lore <3 slow burn, lore-heavy, and a little bit feral. feedback + theories always welcome! enjoy!! ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ links to other parts of the veilbourne saga: part 2 (nicholas) | part 3 (k) | part 4 (euijoo) | part 5 (harua) part 6 (yuma) | part 7 (taki) | part 8 (maki) | part 9 (fuma)
The night air was heavy with salt and cold, carrying the scent of the tide and something unfamiliar that made Jo’s ears twitch. His paws made no sound on the damp earth as he moved along the edge of his pack’s territory. Normally, the patrols were routine, boring, uneventful — but tonight, something felt off.
A faint shimmer caught his eyes near the water’s edge. Moonlight danced across the surface, glinting off something that didn’t belong. He froze, ears flicking, muscles recoiling.
There she was.
Half-submerged, her raven hair floating across the water, chest rising in uneven breaths.
A human?
It was laughable really, as much as everyone liked to say magical beings and humans could coexist peacefully, it just wasn’t true. And for some human to even think step into the borders of a pack’s camp was downright insane.
Jo inched closer. Her skin… it glimmered faintly, iridescent, almost ethereal. She wasn’t human. But still insane. Insane enough to walk straight into a wolf’s den. That much he could tell instinctively.
She noticed him at the same time, eyes widening in alarm. An immediate hiss, low and defiant escaped her lips. That’s when he noticed the blood.
She was in pain. Immense pain at that. The crimson blood blending in with the tranquility of the waters she was in. Across her shoulders were multiple gashes, blisters slowly forming on her arms and Jo swore only frost giants had lips that pale but he decided he was proven wrong today.
“Who are you?” He said, voice low.
She flinched but didn’t answer, tensing as if ready to strike. Her tail—or what he assumed was a tail— swished in agitation, water splashing against the rocks. He caught a flicker of claws—or fins?—shining beneath the surface. Jo’s instincts screamed that she was dangerous, unpredictable.
Yet, despite the warning bells in his mind, he felt drawn. Something in her wary defiance, in the sharp intelligence behind her eyes, pulled at him. He crouched slightly, leaning back into his hind legs, silent, letting her see he wasn’t an immediate threat.
First mistake.
The creature lashes out, a reflexive swipe that caught his arm. Another swipe that he barely managed to twist aside, avoiding her.
“Careful,” he muttered, but his tone was steady, not angry. “I’m not your enemy.”
Second mistake.
She glared at him, teeth bared — not in a smile, but in a warning. Water dripped from her hair as she rose slightly her gaze sharp. Jo noticed more injuries then. The bruises along her shoulders, the shallow cut on her side. No human could’ve caused that.
His mind started feeling a little buzzed, like he just downed a couple of beers. He gravitated towards her slowly and the back of his canine brain, he hears her humming a song. Or whatever it was, it was heavenly. She was heavenly, despite looking fresh out of a brutal fight.
He stepped closer, slowly, deliberately, trying to shake off the drunk feeling. Seriously, what is that?
Letting his presence calm her without breaking her space. “You’re hurt,” he said quietly. “You need help.”
Third mistake.
A split second of looking into her eyes sends a shock down Jo’s spine.
Siren.
His mind buzzed. Light, unfocused.
Her humming swelled, soft and dangerous.
Beautiful. Too beautiful.
Fuck, am I seriously going to die here?
“You need help.” He tries again, sounding more helpless than before.
For a moment, she hesitated, as if weighing the truth in his words against her survival instinct. And his head felt lighter all of a sudden, as if he was knocked out of the trance. Then, with a wary glance toward the forest behind him, she sank back slightly into the water, almost imperceptibly, conceding a fragile truce.
Jo’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t leave her there—not like this. Not in his territory. After all, that’s what the patrols were for.
“I’ll take you back to my pack,” Carefully, he extended his arm. “Safe. No one will hurt you there.” He promised.
Her eyes juggled between him, the water and back to him again. There was defiance, yes, but also something… a flicker of trust.
“Fine,” she murmured, almost reluctantly.
Jo allowed himself a small, controlled exhale.
The den stirred the moment Jo stepped into the clearing. His arms ached from carrying her, but he ignored it, pushing through the tense stares that followed him.
Wolves stirred from their dens, some already baring their teeth.
Murmurs rose like a storm.
“Is that a siren?”
“What the hell was he thinking bringing her here?”
“She’ll kill us in our sleep—just wait.”
Her hair, still dripping with seawater, clung to her pale face. She looked half-dead, yet her eyes never stopped flicking from shadow to shadow, sharp, calculating.
Nicholas was the first to step forward, jaw tight, eyes dark.
“You’ve lost your fucking mind Jo,” He spat, circling like he was already preparing to strike. “Bringing that into our camp? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“She’s hurt,” Jo shot back, voice low but firm. “She won’t make it through the night out there.”
Nicholas sneered. “Good. Let the sea finish what it started.” His gaze slid to her, dripping with venom. “She doesn’t belong here.”
Harua cut in, pushing past Nicholas. His hands hovered over her wounds, healer’s instincts kicking in. “She’s burned. Frostbite too. These are fatal if untreated.” He looked at Jo, then at the alpha’s den. “She needs care.”
The tension broke as Euijoo emerged from the shadows. His presence silenced the whispers instantly. The alpha’s gaze was heavy, unreadable as it lingered on the siren in Jo’s arms.
“Explain.”
Jo tightened his grip unconsciously, barely meeting his leader’s eyes. “I found her on the border. Injured. She wasn’t attacking — she was barely breathing. I couldn’t leave her.”
“And the claw marks on your arm?”
Right. She technically did attack him.
Euijoo’s expression didn’t change as he continue, “You thought it wise to bring a siren into our den?”
Dozens of eyes burned into Jo’s back, their silence louder than any growl.
Jo’s throat worked, but he didn’t look away. “She’ll stay. Just until she’s healed enough to return to the waters.”
Before Euijoo could respond, Nicholas stepped forward, growl rumbling low in his chest. “No. She doesn’t get to stay at all.” His fists clenched. “We know what they are. Liars. Manipulators. Killers. You’re letting her put every single one of us at risk!”
The siren stirred at his words, her lips pulling back in the faintest hiss, “Oh boohoo. Mister big bad wolf trembling at the sight of a siren.” She mumbled but Nicholas noticed it instantly. His temper snapped.
“The mouth on this one—“
He lunged before anyone could stop him.
Jo shifted immediately, dropping the girl behind him as he intercepted Nicholas. Claws scraped across dirt as the two collided.
Even half-dead, she still had fight in her. Jo didn’t know if it made her reckless or brave—or both.
“Enough!” Jo snarled, shoving him back. “She’s injured, Nicholas!”
Nicholas’ eyes blazed. “That’s when they’re the most dangerous! You know this Jo.” His voice rose, sharp with hatred. “Or are you so bewitched you can’t even see it?”
Behind Jo, the siren pushed herself unsteadily to her feet, blood still trickling down her arms. She didn’t speak—she didn’t need to. With a sudden flick of her wrist, the air vibrated. A sharp, piercing note cut through the clearing, not loud enough to enthrall, but enough to make Nicholas stumble, covering his ears with a snarl.
In an instant, Jo was back at her side, bracing her before she could collapse again.
Nicholas lunged once more, eyes blazing with fury. But this time, Euijoo’s voice cracked through the camp like thunder.
“Stand down.”
The weight of the alpha’s command froze them all. Even Nicholas, panting with rage, stopped mid-step. Jo felt his chest tighten. If Euijoo casts her out now, she wouldn’t last an hour out there. But if she stayed… the whole pack could turn on him.
Euijoo’s gaze swept over the girl who was growing paler by the minute, then to Jo, then back to Nicholas. His voice was steady, final.
“She stays. One night.”
“She can barely breathe—“
“Are you kidding? We’ve lost enough to her kind—” Jo and Nicholas’ voices overlapped.
“One. Night.” Euijoo’s tone cuts them both down. He turned on his heel. “Haura, treat her.”
Jo exhaled slowly, tension leaving his shoulders.
“And Jo?” Euijoo called without looking back. “You’re responsible for her. If anything happens to her, and gods forbid anything happens to anyone in my pack, it is your head I’m coming for.”
He bowed his head in acknowledgement.
Nicholas’ lips curled back in a snarl- the siren couldn’t help but wonder if his face was just permanently like that—but he didn’t argue again. Instead, he spat on the ground and stalked into his den.
The siren’s eyes flicked up at Jo, her expression a mixture of exhaustion and anger. And maybe, just maybe, a flicker of trust.
The dawn bled gold through the trees, spilling into the den. The wolves stirred restlessly, though no one lingered too close to the small chamber where the siren lay.
Harua crouched beside her again, holding a clay bowl of something orange and steaming. “Drink.” He ordered, pressing it into her hands.
She sniffed it and wrinkled her nose. “That smells like death.”
“You’re going to be closer to death if you don’t drink this. It’ll stop the burns from festering.” Harua said simply, waiting.
She glared but sipped anyway, grimacing. The colour in her cheeks was brighter than when Jo found her, her indigo scales glistening slightly more than before, though her eyes still carried exhaustion.
In the common room, Yuma leaned lazily against the wall, voice carrying as he spoke. “They say the tides near the coast are boiling. Whole fishing villages abandoning their boats. Leviathan rising up again.” His eyes gleamed with mischief. “Sounds like the start of one of those old myths.”
The siren’s voice cut sharp through the air, stronger than it had been since she arrived. “It’s not a myth. The Shattersea War has begun.”
Every head turned.
Jo froze where he stood. Fuma’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened. Nicholas gave a short, humorless laugh, “Of course. Trust a siren to drag war to our doorstep.”
The siren ignored him, eyes fixed on the wolves around her. “The Leviathans want dominion over all waters. We sang them back into the depths for centuries, but they’ve grown restless. They struck first. My pod…” Her voice cracked slightly, but she forced it steady. “They didn’t survive.”
The room went still. Even Yuma lost his easy grin.
Jo felt the words cut through him, but before he could speak, Nicholas stepped forward, sneering. “So what now? You expect us to pity you? To hide you while your kind calls monsters to our shores?”
Her eyes narrowed, a flash of steel. “I didn’t come to beg wolves for pity.”
In a heartbeat, Jo was between them, his stance low, protective. “Enough,” he growled, voice rougher than he meant.
Nicholas’ gaze flicked to Jo’s shoulder brushing hers, the instinctive way Jo shielded her without thought, the way Jo’s paws brushed her scaly claws just slightly. His eyes lingered.
“Interesting.” Nicholas muttered, before storming out.
Silence hung heavy until Fuma broke it, turning to Euijoo. “If the Shattersea War has begun, keeping her here may be dangerous… but sending her back could be worse.”
Euijoo’s jaw clenched, He looked at the siren, then at Jo, who hadn’t moved an inch from her side.
“She stays another night,” the alpha decided. “Then we’ll see.”
“What? The siren?”
“You said the siren was only going to be here one night—“
“Euijoo, we’re talking about a siren—“
“She doesn’t belong here, she could lure anyone into the sea!”
The pack didn’t bother to hide their whispers.
Every murmur, every use of that word, pricked at her. Her fingers flexed against the fur makeshift bed Jo had made for her, the faint hum of irritation vibrating in her throat.
“Siren.” She pushed herself upright, voice sharp and cutting, startling the pack into silence. “You keep saying it as if I’m a threat, as if I’m some monster you need to fear.” She shoved herself fully onto her feet, shoulders squared, News flash: I’m the one who got attacked trying to protect my pod. And I have a name.”
All eyes shifted to her. Even Jo, though he had been near enough to hear her voice bubbling quietly, froze, pulse hitching.
“Syrena,” She said, voice firm, carrying over the murmurs. “Not ‘the siren.’ Syrena.”
“Of course, Syrena.” The alpha breaks the silence. He nods briefly in acknowledgement, “You can stay one more night. And I’m sure you understand when I say: I’m just looking out for the safety of my pack.”
Jo, already standing beside her, took a careful step closer. “Syrena,” he repeated quietly, testing the word on his tongue. There was something satisfying in saying it aloud, something grounding, refreshing even.
“Yes. Syrena,’ She confirmed, eyes softening for just a fraction of a second. The faintest hint of relief tugged at her features — finally recognised, finally seen.
The others—Taki, Maki and K— exchanged uncertain glances, slowly beginning to adjust to the idea of calling her by name.
Jo stayed close, but the weight of the pack’s tension pressed against him. Before he could settle his thoughts, Fuma appeared next to him, voice low.
“Jo. A word.”
Jo’s stomach twisted. He glanced at Syrena, whose eyes flickered toward him, sharp and questioning. He didn’t even notice that Syrena had interlaced their fingers together in the commotion.
There’s no way his brother in arms would shred her to pieces while he steps out for a little right?
“I got her. Go.” Harua says simply, wrapping seaweed against the siren—Syrena’s arms.
Jo gave her a slight nod, promising he’d return, and followed Fuma into the morning mist.
Fuma stopped several paces away, folding his arms, his dirty blonde hair looking eerily similar to the golden rays of sunshine peaking through the trees. “I’ve been watching. Since you carried her into camp, you’ve been… different.”
Jo tensed. “She’s injured. I’m keeping her safe. That’s all.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Fuma turned, eyes sharp but not unkind. “You stand like a shield. You hover as though the moment you blink, she’ll vanish. That isn’t duty, Jo. That’s instinct.”
Jo opened his mouth, closed it. His pulse pounded in his ears. “She’s a siren.”
Yeah right, as if that changed anything.
“Yes.” The beta tilted his head slightly. “And yet.”
The words hung heavy.
“You think—“ Jo’s vice broke, harsher than intended. “You think she’s—“
“I think,” Fuma interrupted gently, “that the bond between wolf and mate is not something you can ignore forever. Whether you admit it or not, your body already knows.”
Jo dragged a hand through his hair, placing a short line across the forest floor. “That can’t be. Not with her. She’s a siren.”
“Instinct doesn’t care for reason,” Fuma said, “But Jo… if it’s true, it will divide the pack. Even now, with half the pack glaring daggers at her—your instincts don’t lie. You need to think about what that means. Nico already feels the tension. And you know he’ll only push harder.”
Jo pressed his lips together, chest tight. He could still feel the faint weight of her in his arms from last night, the way her voice cut like silver when she hissed back at Nicholas. Fragile, curious and stubbornly alive.
Thinking back about it now, Fuma was right. If it were anyone else, Jo figured he wouldn’t think twice, not allowing anything near his pack’s borders. He valued their safety over anything else, his brothers.
Fuma laid a hand on his shoulder, steady. “You need to decide how far you’re willing to go for her.”
The beta glanced at the alpha’s den once, and it’s enough for Jo to understand.
“Before Euijoo decides for you.”
Jo nodded slowly, tension coiling in his chest watching Fuma melt away into the morning mist. Jo exhaled sharply, rubbing at his temple before turning back toward the den. Syrena was still sitting there, furs wrapped loosely around her, eyes flicking between the wolves and the clearing beyond.
He approached carefully, trying not to look too tense. “You… don’t have to worry about them right now,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Syrena’s violet eyes lifted to him, narrowing slightly. “I’ve been fine without a pack watching my every move.” The way she puts pressure on the word ‘pack’ makes him flinch slightly, her tone sharp but not unkind. “Don’t start hovering.”
“I’m not hovering,” he insists almost sounding like a child whining, voice low, leaning against the doorway. “I’ll just…be nearby.”
Before they could settle, Taki and Maki padded into the clearing, ears perked, tails flicking. Their eyes widened at the sight of her.
“So siren…” Taki says slowly.
Syrena’s lips twitched in irritation.
Taki is quick to correct himself, “Oh… right. Sorry, Syrena.”
K finally emerged, moving silently as shadows, and observed her quietly. He didn’t say a word, eyes moving between Syrena and Jo, studying the way Jo stood protectively near her. The faintest crease fired between his brows neutral, but thoughtful.
Syrena, sensing the scrutiny, shifted slightly, standing taller. “You all look like you’re trying to decode if I’m going to eat you or not,” she said dryly. Jo’s chest tightened at the tension in her voice. Fuma has been right— his wolf knew before his mind did.
Taki and Maki exchanged uncertain glances, then nodded hesitantly, “Well Syrena…” Maki says her name like it left a foreign taste in his mouth, “Usually wolves are the ones who do the eating?” He tried for a joke to which Syrena returns with a soft giggle which she masks quickly by coughing.
Jo swore it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, his head snapping to look at her with a smile plastered on his face.
Harua, returning from tending to supplies, carried a small bowl with one of his gross concoctions. “Drink this,” he instructed, gently pressing it toward Syrena. “It’ll help with the burns and bruises.”
Syrena sniffed at it, eyes begging Jo for help, then back at the bowl like it personally offended her. “You wolves are obsessed with making me eat weird things,” she muttered, but took the bowl anyways.
“You’ll get used to it.” He said softly, his lips twitching.
Syrena raised an eyebrow. “I doubt it.”
“Want me to hold your hand while you drink it?”
“I’m not a child.”
He reached out stubbornly anyways, cocking his head when she hesitated. Eventually she reached just for his pinky, squeezing tighter when she savours the pungent taste of Harua’s medicine. “Gods, that’s nasty.”
The pack lingered in the clearing, some whispering quietly to each other, some openly watching her every move. Jo was the latter, shamelessly watching her, feeling giddy like Syrena was still bewitching him with her song. But this time, it felt natural. So natural. Too natural.
It was uneasy truce but for now, the morning passed without incident.
Even as the sun rose higher, Syrena’s eyes occasionally flicked towards the distant coastline, a subtle tension beneath her calm exterior. Jo noticed, and felt the faint pull of instinct, unacknowledged but undeniable.
The Shattersea War was beginning and with it, everything was about to change— for Syrena, for Jo, and for the entire pack.
The den was quiet now, the low murmur of the pack outside fading with each footstep that disappeared into the forest. Jo stayed close to Syrena crouching near the edge of her makeshift bed. He kept his hands to himself at first, pretending to examine the still-healing bruises along her shoulders.
Syrena tilted her head, violet eyes catching his yellow ones in the soft morning light. “I thought I told you not to hover.” She said, tone teasing, but not harsh. “I’m fine. You don’t need to…patrol my every breath.”
Jo’s fingers twitched over the fading marks on her skin. “I…I’m just making sure you’re okay,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze. But even as he said it, the back of his mind hummed with something he didn’t fully understand. Every instinct in his wolf stirred when he leaned a little closer, when his shoulder brushed against hers, subtle warmth thrumming beneath his skin.
“You act like I’m fragile or something. I’ve been through worse than this.” She flicked her hair back, revealing a faint scar along her collarbone, a memory of a battle fought long before she came here.
“I know,” Jo said, voice low. But the tightening in his chest betrayed him. “It’s… not that.”
A faint shift of energy, almost imperceptible, passed between them. His pulse thudded in rhythm with hers. Jo swallowed hard, realising just how sharply his wolf reacted to her presence, to the scent, to the sound of her breathing. His throat went dry.
This is… not normal.
Syrena leaned back slightly, resting her hands on the fur. “Well,” She said softly, eyes glimmering with amusement, “If you insist on hovering… I guess you can. But only if you really do insist.”
Jo’s lips twitched in a smile before he cleared his throat.
A sudden voice broke the moment. Yuma’s easy tone carried from the doorway, a grin plastered on his face. “Hear ye, hear ye. I bring magical gossip: I hear the tides are boiling again. Leviathans spotted near the northern reef. Must be the start of something big, huh?”
Syrena’s gaze sharpened instantly, “It’s not the start.,” She corrected, voice firm, each word measured. “The Shattersea War has already begun. The Leviathans attacked first.”
Yuma whistled low, eyes now pointed towards the floor, “Well, that escalated fast.”
“I don’t know why Euijoo is letting you linger here.” Nicholas appears from the shadows, his gaze fixed on Syrena, sharp and dangerous. “Do you think your presence won’t draw the Leviathans straight to our shores? Do you really think this pack will survive if they sense a siren on land?”
Jo’s hackles rose slightly, “Nico, back off.”
Nicholas ignored him, eyes rolling. “I don’t care about your feelings for her, Jo. I’m talking about survival. The surface and the underwater worlds have never fought directly… but with the tensions rising now, never say never. And you know this.”
Syrena’s violet eyes met his, unblinking, not an inch of fear in them, “Then you understand why I was attacked,” She said quietly. “This isn’t just about me. It’s war.”
A silence fell, thick and tense, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on them all. Jo glanced at Syrena, at Nicholas, at Yuma who was trying—albeit, unsuccessfully—to lighten the mood.
Fuma’s earlier words echoed in his mind: Instinct doesn’t care for reason.
The air in the den thickened as Yuma’s probing shifted from the Leviathans to something sharper.
“You keep saying your pod was attacked,” One of his ears flopped down and one remained upright, “But I’ve heard whispers, even in our world . The Leviathans aren’t just picking fights at random. They’re targeting kingdoms. Thrones.”
Syrena’s breath caught. Jo noticed — the tiniest hitch in her throat, the way her fingers clenched the blanket tighter.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard,” she began carefully, eyes fixed on the brown muck that Harua made earlier for her, “But Leviathans don’t move without reason. They want power. Sirens… we have kingdoms beneath the waves. Unlike merfolk who rules the calm waters, sirens govern the deep. Where the currents are treacherous and power comes from voice and bloodline. Lines of succession. Crowns that matter. ”
Nicholas couldn’t help but bare his fangs, “And where do you fit into that picture?”
Silence stretched. The pack waited, every breath sharp with anticipation. Jo felt his heart proud, his wolf pressing against his chest like it already knew the answer. He was sure the rest of his pack, with their sharpened hearing, could hear it too.
Finally, Syrena exhaled, shoulders sinking as If the weight of the ocean itself sat on her back. “I am… or was… Princess of the Coral Spire. My family ruled the eastern waters for generations.” Her voice wavered. “They’re gone now. Every one of them slaughtered.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, the sound small and human in a way Jo had never heard from her before.
The room froze.
Jo couldn’t stay still. His wolf growled low, a warning he barely controlled. “You… You’re royalty,” he repeated. Voice rough.
Yuma muttered a low curse. Taki’s eyes widened, while K remained impassive, though the muscle in his jaw twitched. Nicholas’ face was carved from stone, though something flickered in his eyes—recognition, perhaps even fear.
And then Euijoo stepped in. The alpha’s presence filled the room like a storm rolling over the sea. “So the Leviathans aren’t just hunting sirens,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing on Syrena. “They’re hunting you.”
Her gazed flicked up , defiant despite the tremor in her voice. “I didn’t choose this. I didn’t ask to be born to a crown. But they won’t stop until I’m dead. And if they can’t find me… they’ll kill anyone who harbours me.”
That was the breaking point.
The alpha’s voice came out sharp, decisive, the tone that brooked no argument. “Then you cannot stay here.”
Jo’s chest constricted. “What?”
“By sundown, she leaves,” Euijoo continued, eyes never leaving Syrena. “I will not risk the safety of this pack, not for one outsider. Not when her presence paints a target on all of us.”
Jo stepped forward, “She’s not just some outsider—"
“Enough,” Euijoo snapped, silencing the room, “I’ve been kind enough Jo. She is to leave by sundown.”
The alpha turned to his pack, voice carrying the weight of command. “Maki, Taki, Yuma, K— you’ll scour the ridges and the forest lines. I want eyes everywhere by nightfall. Fuma, Jo and Harua, you’re with me— we need to fortify the eastern den. As for you—“ His gaze cut like ice towards Nicholas, “You’ll stay behind. Patrol the shore. Guard our main den.”
Nicholas bristled, hatred flashing in his eyes, “With all due respect, Alpha—"
Euijoo spared him a quick glance which made the wolf dip his head in reluctant obedience.
Jo’s throat tightened as he glanced at Syrena. Her face betrayed nothing, but her hands twisted in the blanket, and he could sense it—the sting beneath her calm. The rejection. The dismissal.
Euijoo’s voice softened slightly, though it still carried steel. “And you. You will leave before the moon rises, Syrena. For your safety… and for ours.”
The silence that followed was heavier than any roar. Syrena didn’t argue. She only looked at Jo, and that was enough to make the air hurt.
The pack dispersed, tension hanging like fog in the cavern. Jo stayed rooted in place, his wolf clawing at him, demanding he fight. Demanding he choose.
And Syrena, sitting small yet unyielding by the fire, met his gaze with quiet defiance.
Her eyes shimmered faintly under the low light, like deep-sea catching flame. Every instinct in him howled at the sight- don’t let her go. His chest tightened, the pull sharp, primal. He turned away before the sound escaped him.
Fuma lingered by the entrance, watching him. “You should breathe,” he murmured.
Jo’s hands flexed at his sides. “He can’t just send her off,” he said, too low, too rough. “She’s still healing. If the rival pods are hunting her—"
“Then Euijoo’s not wrong,” Fuma interrupted softly. “They’ll come for her. And when they do, they’ll find us standing in their way.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Jo’s voice broke through the air like a snarl. He caught himself immediately, shoulders tense. “She doesn’t have a home anymore. She won’t survive out there alone. Not like this.”
“Then what would you have him do?” Fuma’s eyes glinted — calm but heavy with meaning. “Keep her here? In our den? You know what that means, Jo.”
Jo didn’t answer. He just started into the fire. The light flickered across his face, revealing the faint tremor beneath his calm. Fuma sighed, stepping closer, lowering his voice.
“Your wolf is loud tonight,” he said. “Too loud to pretend.”
Jo shot him a warning look. “Don’t start.”
“Jo.”
The alpha’s tone. Commanding, sharp.
Jo swallowed, forcing his wolf down, and followed Euijoo into the adjoining chamber. The air was colder there, quieter. Euijoo stood with his back turned, staring out toward the forest through a narrow opening in the rock.
“You disagree with my decision.” It wasn’t a question.
Jo stayed silent.
Euijoo turned, gaze piercing. “You think I didn’t see the way you looked at her?”
“I’m just—"
“Protective,” Euijoo finished for him, stepping closer. “I’ve seen you protect pack mates. This is different.”
Jo’s jaw flexed. His wolf shifted beneath his skin, restless.
“Fuma tells me your instincts are acting up,” the alpha continued. “And now I understand why.”
Jo’s eyes flashed gold for a heartbeat. He forced them back. He can’t know yet.
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is,” Euijoo challenged. “Because I’ve led this pack long enough to know when a wolf’s found his mate.”
The words hit like a blow. Jo’s breath caught, his pulse hammering in his throat.
Euijoo’s exhaled slowly, expression unreadable. “A siren, Jo? Of all creatures beneath the waves…”
“I didn’t choose this,” Jo growled. “You think I want it? You think I asked for it?”
Euijoo’s tone stayed firm. “No one ever does . But what we do choose is how we protect what’s ours.” He stepped closer, gaze heavy with the weight of command. “You’d risk the pack for her. I can see it in you.”
Jo’s silence was answer enough.
The alpha nodded once— a quiet verdict. “She leaves by sundown. That’s final.”
Jo’s wolf lunged inside him, clawing against his ribs, but he held still, knuckles white. “At least, don’t leave her with him.” His wolf reacted before he could, the hostility when he remembered Euijoo’s orders of wanting Nicholas to stay back with Syrena at the den. “Let me do it.”
“Question my orders one more time Jo,” Euijoo said firmly. “You’ll find yourself out of the pack with your mate.”
Jo wanted to argue, to tear the words apart— but one look at the alpha told him it would be useless. He bowed his head, the gesture stiff, restrained.
Euijoo’s voice softened just slightly. “Whatever bond your wolf feels? Control it. The pack’s safety comes first. Always.”
When Jo left the chamber, the firelight hit him again — warm and soft against the storm still raging in his chest.
Syrena was still by the fire, tracing faint shapes in the air with her fingers, her face lit by the glow. Nicholas leaned nearby, watching her with that sharp, wary edge that never quite left his eyes.
Jo’s wolf stirred again — that same relentless, instinctive pull toward her.
And he knew, as the sun began to set, that having her leave by sundown would destroy him long before it ever broke her.
By the time the camp settled, the morning light had deepened to gold. Most of the pack had drifted toward their assigned posts, their murmurs fading into the forest hum. Only Syrena remained near the dying fire, wrapping her few belongings into a tattered satchel.
Jo lingered by the entrance, arms crossed, heart unsteady. Every movement she made drew attention — not from curiosity, but because his instincts sparked at every flicker of her breath.
She winced, a quiet hiss slipping past her lips as she tried to lift a water flask. Before he could think, Jo was already at her side, taking it from her hands.
“I’ve got it,” he said softly.
She blinked, “What did I say about hovering, wolf?”
He hesitated, his hand still brushing hers. “Maybe I don’t have a choice.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The forest outside thrummed with cicadas, the silence between them sharp and delicate.
Syrena looked away first, her jaw tense. “Why do you care so much?” she asked, almost a whisper. “You should be glad I’m leaving. Less trouble for your pack.”
“It doesn’t feel that way,” he said, too quickly.
Her eyes flicked up, studying him. “You’re strange.”
“I get that a lot,” he said, smiling faintly.
Her lips twitched, returning the smile for a split second. But then her gaze dropped, distant. “The sea doesn’t forgive easily,” she murmured. “When the Shattersea War began, I thought I’d be the one to lead them home. I thought… if I sang loud enough, maybe they’d listen.” She trailed off, swallowing hard. “But the water only answered with silence.”
The sound of her voice only lingered, low and salt-bitten, like a tide retreating too soon.
Jo’s chest tightened. He wanted to reach out, to ease that ache in her voice, but something about her stillness warned him off. “You still hum when you sleep,” he said instead, quietly. “I can hear it from the next room.”
Her head snapped up, a flush gracing her cheeks. “That’s— it’s not meant for wolves to hear.”
“Maybe it was meant for me,” he said simply.
The air stilled. Something fragile and warm passed between them — unspoken, unacknowledged, but real.
Jo reached into his belt and pulled free a small pendant, carved from pale bone and tied with worn leather. “Here,” he said, holding it out to her. “For protection.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s been passed down for generations in my family. It’s a little silly, but I like to think it keeps me safe.” He reached for the back of his head, scratching his neck.
“It’s not silly.” Syrena frowned, uncertain. “But you trust me with this?”
“You saved your pod,” he said. “You’ve earned it.”
Her fingers brushed his when she took it. The faint jolt of contact made his breath catch — the wolf inside him howled in recognition. He steadied himself. She noticed, gaze flicking briefly to his hand before looking away, pretending not to.
“I’ll make sure it’s returned,” she murmured.
“I’m not worried about that,” he said.
When he turned to leave, she caught him watching her once more. Her expression softened, almost imperceptibly. “Jo,” she said, voice low.
He paused.
“Thank you.”
He nodded once, unable to trust his voice.
He lingered a heartbeat longer, watching her fingers trace the pendant before turning away.
Outside, the others were already preparing for patrol. Euijoo stood by the treeline, issuing quiet orders.
Jo took his place beside Fuma, still feeling the ghost of her touch against his palm.
She was leaving by sundown. He told himself that was for the best.
But his wolf — his damn wolf — didn’t believe it.
By late afternoon, the sky had turned the colour of old copper. The waves were restless, crashing harder than usual against the shore below the den, a low growl that matched the tension in the air.
Most of the pack was already gone—their howls distant echoes fading into the forest and ridge lines. Only the faintest scents of their trails lingered in the air. The silence they left behind felt too wide, too heavy.
Syrena sat near the mouth of the cave, the pendant Jo had given her now tied loosely around her wrist. The fire beside her was nothing more than embers now, glowing faintly against her pale skin. She stared at the horizon as if the sea might call her back—or come to claim her.
Nicholas stood a few paces behind, arms crossed, his gaze flicking between her and the water. He had been silent for most of the afternoon, his usual sharpness dulled into something unreadable.
“You don’t have to stare holes into my back,” Syrena murmured, without turning. “If you want to say something, say it.”
Nicholas exhaled through his nose. “I don’t trust you.”
“I gathered.”
“You’re dangerous,” he continued, stepping closer. “Not because of what you can do. Because of what follows you.”
She finally turned, meeting his glare with unnerving calm. “You think I don’t know that?”
His jaw tightened. “Then why stay here? Why let him—” he stopped himself, biting the word short.
Her brow arched. “Let him what?”
“Get attached.” The words left him like a growl. “You saw what this does to him. To his wolf. He can’t even look at you without fighting himself.”
Her lips parted slightly, as if the thought hadn’t fully formed until now. “That’s not my doing.”
Nicholas took another step forward. “Maybe not. But if the Leviathans are after you, they’ll come here. They’ll tear through this place to find you. And Jo—he’ll tear through us to protect you.”
Something in his tone — not quite hatred, not quite fear — made her glance back at the horizon again.
Nicholas was about to retort again when the air shifted.
A low rumble, almost imperceptible at first, rolled through the cave floor. The kind of vibration that came not from above — but below. From the sea.
Nicholas froze. His wolf senses sharpened instantly, nostrils flaring.
“You feel that?”
“Fuck.” Syrena’s expression darkened. “They’ve found me.”
Outside, the waves began to churn. Foam hissed up the rocks as the tide surged higher, unnatural in its rhythm. From the depths, something shimmered — faint lights, like will-o’-wisps flickering beneath the surface.
Nicholas swore under his breath, unsheathing the blade strapped to his thigh “How many?”
Syrena stood, her body already humming with the faint glow of siren power. “Three... maybe four scouts. But they’re not alone. They never are.”
“Jo should’ve been the one to stay,” Nicholas muttered, eyes scanning the shoreline.
Her gaze flicked toward him, unreadable. “No. You were right, Nicholas. You don’t trust me. You don’t have any reason to.”
The first shape broke the surface — a slick, scaled form, humanoid in silhouette but monstrous in motion. A Leviathan scout, eyes glowing faintly blue. Then another, and another, rising from the tide.
“Let me handle this.” Syrena braced herself, her hands curling.
Nicholas crouched low, growl tearing from his throat. “Get back.”
Syrena ignored him, stepping forward as her voice deepened, carrying a resonance that wasn’t human — ancient and commanding. The air vibrated, the water answering her call.
She whispered just loud enough for Nicholas to react just in time, “Back.”
The nearest Leviathan flinched, its glowing eyes dimming momentarily — but not retreating. It hissed, a shriek that split the air, and the next wave crashed with explosive force.
Nicholas was thrown back, barely catching his footing. “That’s your idea of warning?”
Syrena’s eyes burned violet. “That was mercy.”
And as the waves surged again, her song rose — not gentle this time, but furious, the sound of a storm breaking free.
The song tore through the cove — sharp, violent, heartbreakingly beautiful. Nicholas staggered against the stone wall, one hand pressed to his ear. The air itself seemed to warp under the siren’s voice, her power spilling like liquid silver across the ground.
Three Leviathans circled in the surf, their scaled forms glistening like oil. They hissed when she sang, recoiling — but each wave brought them closer.
Syrena’s chest rose and fell, her voice faltering for a heartbeat. She steadied herself, blood trickling from the corner of her lip. The song turned harsher, less melody now and more fury, a weapon aimed at the creatures clawing their way onto the rocks.
“You psycho siren,” Nicholas gritted his teeth. “You’ll draw the whole ocean down on us!” he growled, though she couldn’t hear him over the roar of the tide.
The first Leviathan lunged.
Nicholas moved before he thought — instincts older than logic taking over. He met it mid-surge, blade flashing, claws bursting through his knuckles. The creature’s hide was thick, scales like armor. He barely sank steel into it before it slammed him into the rock wall, his ribs cracking under the force.
He spat blood, rolling to his feet just as Syrena’s voice cut through the air again. The Leviathan jerked back — for half a second, its eyes went dull.
“Move!” she shouted, her voice trembling with the effort.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He ducked just as she lifted both hands, the sea behind her rising in a single, massive swell. The wave crashed down on the Leviathans with bone-breaking force, slamming them back into the surf.
But the victory was short-lived.
Syrena stumbled, her knees hitting the stone, a pained gasp tearing from her throat. Her gills flared weakly along her neck, struggling to draw breath in the dry air. The glow in her eyes flickered — once, twice — before dimming.
Nicholas saw it. Saw how she faltered. How the song, once earth-shattering, was now barely more than a broken hum.
And he did what wolves did best — he assessed.
One siren. Three Leviathans. A broken tide.
She wasn’t going to last.
He wanted to let her fall. Let the sea reclaim her and spare the pack the trouble. But then, in the haze of salt and blood, Jo’s face flashed in his mind. The way his voice had cracked when he said, She won’t survive alone.
Nicholas cursed under his breath, leaping back into the fray. “Damn it, Jo.”
He lunged back into the fight, slashing through the next Leviathan’s flank. The creature screeched, thrashing, its tail knocking Nicholas off his feet — but he rolled, came up snarling, eyes blazing gold.
Behind him, Syrena tried to stand, her hands trembling, her voice trembling between notes. Her power sparked and faded like a dying flame.
When the next wave of Leviathans broke the surface, Nicholas realised how bad it was. Not three. Not four. At least six now, their glowing eyes cutting through the dark water like lanterns.
“Alright that’s enough,” he growled, blood slicking his teeth. He tilted his head back and let loose a howl — low and long and desperate.
It tore through the forest. A sound no wolf made lightly. A call for help.
The echo rolled through the cliffs, through the trees, through the hearts of every wolf who heard it.
Far in the distance, Jo froze mid-step. His pulse spiked, his wolf answering before he could even think.
Fuma’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “That was Nicholas.”
Jo didn’t wait for orders. He was already running.
Back at the shore, Nicholas dropped to one knee, breathing hard. His claws were slick with blood — his own and theirs. Syrena was still standing somehow, but barely. Her song had quieted to a whisper now, barely enough to hold the monsters back.
Nicholas glanced at her, chest heaving. “If you die,” he said between breaths, “he’ll never forgive me.”
She looked up, eyes dazed. “Then fucking fight, wolf.”
He smirked — half a snarl, half a grin. “You’re not giving orders down here, Princess.”
And then he was moving again, diving into the chaos, just as the next wave crashed and the first responding howls echoed back through the trees.
The forest answered him. One howl became three. Then five. Closer.
But the sea didn’t wait.
The Leviathans surged as one, dark bodies slicing through the black water. Syrena barely had time to react before one tail coiled around her leg, dragging her back toward the foam. She screamed, almost sounding scarily human — shattering against the stone walls of the cove.
Nicholas lunged after her. His claws caught the creature’s hide, tearing deep, but another Leviathan slammed into him from the side. His body hit the rocks hard enough to rattle the cliffs.
He staggered to his feet, blood dripping down his face, and then—
He let go.
His body arched, bones snapping and reshaping, muscles rippling under his skin as the change overtook him. The air shimmered around him, the scent of iron and wild earth thickening.
Where the man had stood, a wolf rose — huge, powerful, his fur a deep shade of sangria red that caught the dim light like fire. His eyes burned gold.
The wolf leapt into the fray.
He tore through the nearest Leviathan, teeth sinking into its throat, ripping scales from flesh. But there were too many. For every monster he threw down, another rose from the depths.
Syrena’s song faltered again — weaker now, barely holding the tide. One of the beasts wrapped around her waist, pulling her down into the surf. Her fingers clawed at the rocks, the saltwater turning red where her nails broke.
Nicholas howled, the sound raw and furious, echoing through the storm. He charged — slamming into the creature that held her, snapping its neck in one brutal motion.
But as he tried to drag her free, another Leviathan struck from behind, its tail whipping across his side. The wolf crashed into the stone, bones cracking, blood splattering against the wet rock.
Syrena reached for him, voice trembling. “Nicholas—!”
Then the sea exploded.
A wall of black water rose behind her — Leviathans dragging her under, claws raking down her arms and back. Her scream drowned under the roar of the surf.
Nicholas lunged forward again, but the current hit too fast, too hard. The wave swallowed her whole, pulling her from his reach. He howled after her — a desperate, broken sound — before three more Leviathans surrounded him.
For a moment, all he could see was movement. Teeth. Claws. Water. Blood.
Then —
A flash of silver.
A blur tore through the first Leviathan, ripping it apart like paper. Another slammed into the shore, dead before it hit the rocks.
From above the treeline, a massive wolf landed — fur pale as moonlight, eyes like steel. K.
He didn’t pause. His claws met scale, and the air filled with the sound of monsters dying.
More shapes burst through the trees — one sleek and dark, one golden, and another massive, with eyes that glowed the color of burning amber.
Euijoo. Fuma. Jo.
The pack had arrived.
The Leviathans hesitated — for a heartbeat, even monsters understood fear.
Jo’s wolf didn’t. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even look at the others.
He tore straight past them — straight toward the sea.
Straight toward her.
Syrena was barely visible now, her body tossed by the waves, her blood painting the surf pink. One Leviathan still had her, dragging her deeper.
Jo’s wolf hit the water before anyone could stop him, his snarl echoing through the storm. The sea hissed where he landed, foam burning against his fur.
Nicholas tried to rise, staggering, his breath coming ragged. “Jo—!”
But Jo didn’t hear. Couldn’t. He was already gone — swallowed by the sea and fury and the bond that refused to die.
The moment Jo disappeared beneath the surface, the pack howled — the sound fractured, raw, and helpless.
The Leviathans didn’t retreat quietly. The remaining beasts writhed and lunged, their tails slamming against the rocks, furious that their prey had been stolen from them.
K’s wolf met them first, white fur streaked with blood and seawater. His claws sank into a Leviathan’s eye socket, tearing through scale and flesh. Beside him, Euijoo’s wolf — darker, broader — pinned another down while Fuma leapt over his back, jaws finding the creature’s throat.
Nicholas staggered to his feet, ribs aching, vision blurred from blood. He watched the surf — watched the sea churn where Jo had vanished — and his heart lurched.
He took a step forward.
Fuma’s snarl stopped him cold.
“Don’t.” The word came through his teeth, half-growl, half-command. He shifted back to his human form, chest heaving, blood slick down his neck. “You’ll drown before you find him.”
“He’s in there!” Nicholas spat, voice breaking. His wolf eyes still glowed, the instinct to protect screaming in his veins.
Fuma grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back as another Leviathan lunged. “And you’ll be next if you keep this up. We’re wolves, Nicholas. Land-born. We don’t belong below.”
“But—”
“Enough!” Fuma slammed him against the rock wall. “The old laws are clear — the land does not interfere with the sea. They crossed that line first, and they’ll pay the price. We can’t.”
Nicholas’s jaw clenched. He could still hear the faint echo of Jo’s snarl somewhere beneath the crashing waves — or maybe it was just his mind playing tricks. “So we just let him die?”
“We hold the line,” Fuma said, voice low, heavy. “It’s what he’d do for us.”
Euijoo’s wolf barked sharply — a sound that cut through the chaos. The Leviathans were retreating, slinking back into the depths now that their prey had vanished below. Their scaled backs slipped under the foam, disappearing into darkness.
For the first time, the den went quiet.
Only the wind howled now.
Euijoo shifted back, his expression unreadable as he walked toward the shallows. He crouched by the edge, blood dripping from his arm into the water.
“Jo,” he called quietly. The Alpha tone in his voice cracked for the first time that night. “If you can hear me… come back.”
The sea didn’t answer. Only waves rolled in, lapping at the rocks like nothing had happened.
Behind him, Nicholas dropped to one knee, breathing hard. Fuma stood beside him, scanning the horizon. K shifted back, pressing a hand to a gash across his chest, his pale hair soaked red.
Moments later, more howls echoed through the forest — higher, lighter tones this time. The rest of the pack.
Yuma arrived first, panting hard, followed by Maki and Taki — their faces pale at the sight before them. Harua brought up the rear, carrying a medic’s satchel that looked far too small for the blood spilling onto the rocks.
“Where’s Jo?” Yuma asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Euijoo didn’t look up. His eyes were fixed on the dark water. “Under.”
Harua dropped beside Nicholas immediately, checking his side where crimson soaked through fur and skin. “You’re lucky,” he muttered, pressing a cloth to the wound. “A few inches deeper and you’d be shark food.”
Nicholas didn’t respond. His eyes were still on the waves, his body trembling from exhaustion and something colder.
Fuma dragged a hand through his soaked hair. “We need to regroup. Get everyone back to the den.”
K nodded, grim. “He’ll come back.”
It was a statement, not a question — but no one said it aloud that they all felt the same cold fear:
What if he didn’t?
Euijoo lingered one last moment at the water’s edge. The Alpha inside him warred with the man. His instinct told him to dive — to tear the sea apart until he found his pack mate. But the magic that held the world in balance thrummed beneath the surface, whispering warning through the salt.
The land and the sea do not cross. Not without consequence.
He exhaled, slow and heavy, before turning away. “Back to the den,” he ordered, voice low. “Now.”
The pack obeyed — limping, bleeding, carrying one another through the forest.
Behind them, the sea rolled on. Calm now. Almost serene.
But deep beneath, where no wolf could follow, the storm had only just begun.
Jo’s limbs thrashed against the pull of the water, panic clawing at him as salt stung his eyes. The world had become a blur of green and grey, scales and shadows slipping past, teeth glinting in the low light. He could barely see Syrena, only hear the sharp cadence of her voice cutting through the churn.
“Jo! Focus!” she shouted, her tail slicing through the currents with impossible grace. “Move with me!”
He wanted to, he tried — but his lungs screamed, his body uselessly flailing. The Leviathans circled, dragging him toward the jagged coastline with enormous claws and jagged teeth.
Before he could respond, she was in front of him, hand on his chest. The water around them shimmered with an unnatural glow, scales along her arms glinting like molten violet. Her lips brushed his in a sudden, electrifying kiss. It was soft, insistent, grounding — and in that instant, everything shifted.
Then, instinct flared. His wolf — dormant until now — erupted in a surge of awareness and strength, muscles coiling, limbs extending. He gasped, and something strange happened: his throat didn’t burn. His lungs filled. He could… breathe.
Syrena’s violet eyes widened as she saw him adapt, her hand reaching out. “The myth,” she said, voice trembling with awe and disbelief. “Jo… if a siren kisses you—”
Jo felt his wolf surge fully, instincts melding with reason. Power coursed through him like fire in water, his body stronger, faster, attuned to the currents. His lungs, now filled effortlessly, allowed him to dive deeper, push harder. He grabbed Syrena’s hand, spinning to dodge a Leviathan’s tail that smashed where they had been seconds before.
She laughed, a sound of triumph and relief, her own energy flaring. Royal power surged from her, the water obeying her, swirling in whorls of violet and silver. Scales glinted like armour, her eyes catching glints of light even under the dark waves.
Together, they moved as one — Jo’s wolf instincts guiding every strike, Syrena’s magic bending the water to their will. They slammed into the Leviathans, claws and tail and song merging into something terrifyingly beautiful. A few of the beasts twisted upward, their massive bodies breaching the surface with deafening crashes, water spraying high into the sky.
Syrena’s hands glowed faintly, her power unfurling through her veins like the ocean itself obeying her command. She kicked, twisting, sending a Leviathan careening backward with a force that shook the water. Her fins — subtle now, but strong — sliced through the currents, summoning energy from the very depths.
Jo followed her lead, instinct and wolf-power guiding his movements. They were a whirlwind of water and strength, a force neither of them fully understood, yet perfectly in sync. Every motion she made sparked something inside him, his claws raking scales, his jaws snapping with unnatural precision.
Above, the wolves on land erupted into action. Euijoo, Fuma, and K barreled into the surf, claws slicing through water, muscles taut with urgency. Jo barely had time to acknowledge them, focused entirely on keeping Syrena safe, letting her lead, letting their bond guide him.
Her hands found his again in the chaos, and the touch — electric, grounding — steadied him. “We can do this,” she whispered, her voice carrying authority, calm and deadly.
For the first time, Jo realized: she wasn’t fragile. She wasn’t just a siren in need of protection. She was his equal — powerful, unstoppable, and bound to him in a way that made the impossible feel like instinct.
A Leviathan’s tail swung toward Syrena, and without thinking, Jo shot forward, barreling into it, knocking the creature back with a force that made the water roar around them. He heard the low growl of his wolf surge inside, sharper than ever before.
Syrena twisted, striking again — a strike so powerful it cracked the surface, sending sprays of foam over Euijoo and Fuma as they lunged into the fray.
Even amid the chaos, a strange clarity settled over Jo. He understood her now — her power, her fear, her determination — and something fierce and possessive coiled in him. No one would take her. Not the Leviathans. Not anyone.
As the last few of the smaller Leviathans surged to the surface, gasping and struggling, Jo and Syrena lunged together — a coordinated force neither had ever known — and landed in the shallow water with a crash that shook the rocks.
Above, the pack howled, circling, joining in with renewed purpose. Together, eight wolves and two bonded mates against the tide, they finally had the upper hand.
Jo looked at Syrena, her hair fanning like ink in the water, eyes bright with victory and relief. And for the first time, he let himself truly see her — not as someone to guard, not as a siren in need, but as his mate.
And she looked at him, and the corners of her lips tilted upward, faint, almost shy.
The war wasn’t over. The Shattersea War raged both above and below the waves. But for the first time, Jo knew one thing with certainty: together, they could face it.
The waves had settled, leaving a thin mist curling over the rocks and sand. Jo and Syrena collapsed onto the edge of the shore, drenched, exhausted, hearts still hammering from the fight. Water dripped from Syrena’s hair, clinging to her scales, and for the first time since their arrival, she looked… human again, yet still otherworldly.
Jo flopped beside her, chest heaving, every muscle trembling. He kept a careful distance at first, hands resting in the sand rather than reaching for her, though the wolf inside him throbbed, desperate to curl against her, to mark her as his.
Syrena turned her head, eyes flicking to him, violet catching the fading sunlight. “So…about the kiss,” she said quietly, the words almost drowned in the gentle lapping of the surf.
Jo grunted, awkwardly brushing wet hair from his face. “Yeah. I… I didn’t think you’d—uh…” He trailed off, eyes darting away.
“It was—necessary.” She added quickly, as if reading his thoughts.
Jo grunted, awkwardly brushing his hair from his face. “Necessary?” He echoed.
A small laugh escaped her, uneven, nervous. “It… made you stop dragging me under. And a siren’s kiss helps any creature breathe underwater. Nothing more.”
He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I don’t know why I believed that excuse, but I’ll let it slide… this time.”
The awkwardness settled like a tangible presence, a quiet tension neither of them could fully shake. Above the low roar of the sea, a familiar voice broke the silence.
“Jo,” Euijoo’s voice carried across the sand, commanding and precise, “come here.”
Jo exhaled, stiffened, then followed the alpha back toward the den, Syrena trailing a few steps behind, still catching her breath, still catching his eyes. The pack had begun to regroup, drying and tending to minor injuries, yet the tension around the two newcomers—wet, salty, and raw from battle—was unmistakable.
“You’ve fought bravely. Protected your mate,” Euijoo said, eyes flicking to Syrena. “That bond changes everything. Protect her. Honor her. That is your responsibility as her mate and as a wolf of this pack.”
Jo’s jaw tightened. “I know.”
Syrena, standing a few feet away, finally looked like she was processing the words, and the concept behind them. “Mate…” she repeated softly, the word tasting foreign but not unwelcome on her tongue. She had heard tales, hints of bonds stronger than blood, stronger than magic. But this— this felt different. Real.
K, who had remained silent through the commotion, stepped closer. For once, he did not linger in the shadows. His voice was quiet but firm, almost reverent offering a kind explanation. “For wolves, mates are… everything. Their wolf chooses. And once that bond is made, it’s for life. There is no replacing it, no bargaining with it. Only one mate, or the wolf slowly dies.” His gazed shifted away, grief flickering through his expression. “The old tales say it’s heartbreak. Some believe it. Some don’t.”
Syrena’s violet eyes widened. “Only one?” she asked. Her tone carried a note of disbelief. “Even if… even if the mate is a different… creature?”
K’s gaze flickered briefly to Jo and Syrena, then back to her. “Yes. Unusual, but not rare. Instinct doesn’t care about species. Only the bond matters. It is powerful. Devastating if broken. Jo’s wolf… and your magic, your lives—they’re intertwined now. You may not understand it fully yet, but you will.”
Syrena looked at Jo, really looked, and the soft haze of awe crossed her features. “So… that’s why I felt something when I kissed you. Something… alive, pulling me in. Not just instinct, not just your strength.”
Jo’s pulse hammered. “It’s…” He trailed off, lost for words. The wolf inside him nudged, restless, aching to claim the space beside her. “It’s real,” he finally said, voice low.
K nodded once, solemn. “It is. And it will shape both of you, whether you’re ready or not.”
A quiet settled over the den, charged with something new—possibility, tension, and unspoken understanding. Syrena’s hand brushed the water from her hair, faint tremor in her fingers betraying the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.
Jo stayed close as Syrena gathered her things, still damp from the sea, the faint shimmer of her scales catching the waning sunlight. His wolf churned, restless, desperate to anchor her here, yet he forced himself to remain still, to give her the space she deserved.
“Syrena…” he started, voice low, careful. She paused, eyes meeting his. “You don’t have to… accept me as your mate. That’s your choice. Not mine. And don’t let… what you’ve heard about wolves dying without a mate scare you. That’s… just K. His wolf chose his mate long ago. She disappeared… we’ve searched, tried everything, but she’s gone. He’s holding on only because he senses she might still be alive.”
Her violet eyes softened, a flicker of understanding passing over her features. “I see,” she murmured. “So… it’s not a requirement. Just instinct. Bond. Choice.”
“Exactly.” He ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to keep the tremor in his voice steady. “You can decide for yourself. Only you can decide.”
She nodded slowly, the weight of it settling on her shoulders. Then, after a long pause, she let out a soft breath and stepped closer, the faint brush of her scales against his arm sending a shiver down his spine. “Then… I accept.”
Jo’s heart leapt. “You… really?”
“Yes,” she whispered, though her lips twitched as if she were half-surprised by her own words. “You didn’t treat me like a monster. You risked your life for me.”
She held her hand on his chest and Jo prayed that she couldn’t feel just how erratically his heart was beating. “You’re… something.” Jo chuckled at her comment, pressing his forehead to hers.
“And I know better than to defy destiny.”
“Oh?” He smirked faintly, “So none of this,” he motioned the gap between the two of them, “Has nothing to do with you maybe liking me a little bit?”
Syrena stepped back, arching a brow. “Excuse me?”
Now where did this confidence come from?
“I mean, I’m just saying.” Jo teased. “The way you kissed me earlier—could have sworn there were feelings involved—“
“Jo!”
He laughed, relief softening his chest. His wolf hummed, low and content beneath his skin. But the moment couldn’t last—sundown was near.
“I have to go,” she said, voice catching, and the faint shimmer of tears reflected the last light of the sun. “I need to see to what remains of my kingdom… prepare the others for what’s coming. The Leviathans have broken ancient laws. The war… it’s only beginning.”
He swallowed, hands clenching. “I’ll wait for you,” he said simply, grounding himself in the moment.
Syrena smiled faintly, the tiniest curve of her lips, and reached her hand into the waves. In a split second she drew out a shell, pale and iridescent, with a tiny hole carved through it. “A pact,” she said, voice soft. “Every full moon, I will return. A week. To spend time with you. To update you on the war. And if ever… you need me,” she pressed the shell into his hand, “call. I’ll come.”
Jo turned it over in his palm, the smooth surface cool and comforting. “I… I’ll hold you to that,” he murmured.
Her eyes glimmered, violet meeting gold. “You’d better.”
There was a beat of silence, a tension thick and unspoken, as if both of them were memorising the feel of the moment—the brush of shoulders, the warmth of proximity, the pulse of instinct pulling at them.
Then, reluctantly, she stepped back, taking a deep breath. “I must go,” she said firmly, though not without a flicker of hesitation in her gaze.
Jo nodded, trying to swallow the ache in his chest. “Go… be safe,” he said, voice low but steady. “I’ll be here.”
He took a step forward closer to her, lifting her chin slowly to meet his eyes. Pressing a soft kiss to her lips, a faint blush painting both their faces, he mumbled, “See you soon.” before she slipped into the shallow surf, the water rising around her like a soft embrace. One moment she was there, and the next, she vanished beneath the waves, leaving only ripples in her wake.
Jo lingered at the edge of the shore, gripping the shell tightly, his wolf humming beneath his skin, restless but tethered, knowing she had chosen him—and that the bond was theirs, no matter the distance. And that was enough.
Behind him, K lingered silently, watching the retreating form of the siren. His voice, low and thoughtful, broke the silence. “She’s made her choice. You’re lucky. Most wolves…” His gaze flicked to Jo, serious. “Most wolves never get that chance. Don’t waste it.”
Jo nodded, jaw tight, eyes still fixed on the horizon. “I won’t.”
The last light faded from the sky, shadows lengthened over the forest, and the pack began their return to the den, tending to injuries, regrouping, preparing for the chaos that the Shattersea War would soon bring.
And far below the waves, Syrena swam, her heart still tethered to the wolf on the shore. She drew strength from him, from the bond they had forged in water and blood, ready to face whatever came next.
©inkedbysonny
