Chapter 24
Summer arrived with thunder in its wake.
Storms rolled through the valley every few days, loud and restless, as if the sky itself remembered the war. But we didn’t fear the thunder anymore. We welcomed it. Let it wash away what remained of our past and make room for what we were building.
The allied packs began to send scouts more frequently. Messages arrived in the talons of hawks or carried by shifting wolves who traveled night and day. Some sent weapons, others food or herbs. A few sent their young, eager to learn the new way we were shaping.
It wasn’t peace yet. But it was progress.
Still, we stayed ready.
The nights were long and sleepless for him. I often found him in the watchtower, overlooking the woods, the rain dripping from his coat. He watched the darkness like he was daring it to try again.
One night, I climbed the tower and stood beside him.
“You can breathe, you know,” I said.
He glanced sideways, offering a tired smile. “I know. It’s just… I keep waiting.”
“For what?”
“For the other shoe to drop. For someone to come and tear it all down again.”
I leaned on the wooden railing beside him. “That’s the thing about building something this powerful. It makes people nervous. But we’re not alone anymore. Let them try.”
He exhaled, long and quiet. “You’ve always been stronger than me.”
I laughed softly. “No. I’ve just always had more reasons to keep fighting.”
We stood in silence, watching the moon slice through the storm clouds.
Below us, the village glowed with life. The fire pits flickered. Wolves curled up with their mates. Songs drifted from one of the cabins. Somewhere, a baby cried—and was soothed back to sleep.
This was no longer a camp of survivors.
This was a nation being born.
Over the next few days, we worked with the new arrivals. We formed councils instead of ranks, encouraging voices instead of commands. Every decision was shared. Every voice mattered. The scars on our backs no longer held us back—they guided us.
One afternoon, Mira approached us with two letters in hand.
“The Stoneclaws want to meet,” she said. “And the Riverbend Pack just pledged fifty fighters for the alliance.”
He raised his brows. “Riverbend? They never sided with anyone before.”
“Looks like they’re finally listening,” she said, smiling.
We took the letters and read them together. The words were clear: The world was shifting.
And we were at the center of it.
That night, the fire in the middle of the village burned higher than ever. New songs were sung—songs of packs uniting, of wolves who once fought now standing shoulder to shoulder. Children danced. Elders told stories. And we sat among them, not above them.
We weren’t royalty.
We were founders.
Before we went to bed, he looked at me, his fingers threading through mine.
“Do you think we’re ready?” he asked.
“For what?” I asked.
“For the future.”
I leaned my head against his shoulder. “We’ve been ready for years. We just didn’t know it.”
And as the stars watched from above and the wind whispered through the trees, I realized:
We had lost everything once.
But in that loss, we had discovered something worth everything.
Hope.
And we would never let it go again.