Chapter 23
The next morning, I stood on the same ridge where I’d once watched our enemies burn.
But this time, I wasn’t watching for threats.
I was waiting for allies.
Dust rose in the distance, a sure sign that the envoy from the Northern Wastes was nearing. Behind me, he paced slowly, eyes fixed on the horizon, one hand resting on the hilt of his blade—not from fear, but habit. We both knew the Wastes were unpredictable. Their wolves were wild, hard-edged, and fiercely territorial.
But they were also survivors—just like us.
And if we could earn their trust, we could change everything.
Three wolves emerged from the trees, cloaked and massive. Their steps were slow, cautious. Their leader, a woman with a long scar cutting across her jaw, met my gaze with eyes sharp as glass.
“You’re the ones who tore Radek down?” she asked.
He stepped forward, voice calm. “We didn’t just tear him down. We made sure he’d never rise again.”
She studied us both in silence, then looked beyond—at the village in the distance, the walls, the towers, the children laughing near the garden.
“You built all this?” she asked.
“With blood and stubbornness,” I said.
She smirked faintly. “Good.”
They followed us into the village, eyes darting at every detail. When they saw wolves from different packs training together, they raised their brows. When they saw a blind elder teaching a boy to read, they went quiet. When they saw Mira leading a patrol drill, they stopped walking altogether.
“You’ve done something here,” the woman said, finally. “Something we couldn’t.”
“You can,” I said. “With us.”
She turned to me. “And what happens when peace doesn’t hold? When someone stronger comes?”
I looked her dead in the eye. “Then we remind them that wolves who’ve been broken… don’t break twice.”
That night, the Northern wolves sat with us by the fire, listening to our stories, sharing their own. They had known cold, starvation, betrayal. But as the hours passed, they laughed with us. Broke bread with us.
And before dawn, they made their decision.
“We’ll stand with you,” the woman said. “But not as followers. As equals.”
“Always,” he replied. “No more kings. Just leaders. And families.”
They left two of their warriors to stay, taking two of ours with them in return. A trade not just of people—but of trust.
Later that morning, I walked through the training field, watching Mira correct a young wolf’s form. The sun warmed my skin. My scars didn’t ache like they used to.
He joined me, slipping his hand into mine.
“They said more are coming,” he said. “The coastal packs. Maybe even the bloodline remnants from the East.”
I nodded slowly. “It’s beginning.”
He turned to me, eyes full of something deeper than pride—purpose.
“Do you ever wonder,” he asked, “what would’ve happened if I never left five years ago?”
I smiled. “We wouldn’t be standing here.”
He gave a low laugh. “Leaving you was the hardest thing I ever did. But I had to become the man you deserved.”
“And you did,” I said. “But you also became the man we needed.”
He kissed my forehead gently.
“I didn’t just come back for you,” he whispered. “I came back for all of us.”
And as I stood there with him, watching what we had built take root across the land, I realized something:
The war had changed us.
But we had changed the world.