ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡ @inkedbysonny - Tumblr Blog

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

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