Chapter 25
The day we met the Stoneclaws felt like facing the ghosts of our old selves.
They arrived in rows—disciplined, battle-worn, eyes sharp as blades. Their Alpha, Dagan, was built like a mountain and spoke with the kind of voice that didn’t ask for attention—it demanded it.
We welcomed them at the edge of the valley, offering food and shelter. They refused both at first.
“We’re not here for comfort,” Dagan said. “We’re here to see if what we’ve heard is true.”
He walked through the village like a skeptic entering a temple. Every cabin, every child’s laugh, every small sign of unity—he watched it all without a word.
At the central fire, we met that night.
He didn’t sit. Just stood with his arms crossed, staring at the flames.
“Radek offered us power,” he said at last. “Said we could rule beside him if we bent the knee. We refused. But we also didn’t fight.”
He turned to us.
“Maybe we were cowards. Maybe we just didn’t believe in anything anymore.”
He looked around.
“Until now.”
The silence was thick.
Then I stepped forward. “We weren’t asking you to believe in us. We’re asking you to believe in this.” I gestured at the village. “A life without chains. A world where packs don’t dominate, but protect.”
Dagan stared at me, his eyes narrowing. “You think peace is that simple?”
“No,” he said before I could. “But I think it’s worth it.”
Dagan looked at him, then back at me. “You’ve built something from ashes. That means more than words.”
Then he stepped forward and offered his hand.
“We’ll stand with you.”
A moment passed. A moment where history shifted again.
He took Dagan’s hand. “Welcome home.”
That night, the Stoneclaws shared their stories. They ate with us. They trained with us the next morning, and the strength they brought was undeniable.
But it wasn’t just muscle.
It was belief.
The alliance was growing. Not because of promises or bargains—but because wolves were tired of fear. Tired of turning on each other. Tired of being ruled by power and pain.
And more than anything, they were ready to believe in something new.
One morning, I sat by the edge of the field, watching the young ones practice shifting. Mira stood beside me.
“You know,” she said softly, “they talk about you like you’re a legend now.”
I smiled. “That’s dangerous. Legends aren’t real.”
“You are,” she said. “Because you gave us something Radek never could.”
“What’s that?”
“A choice.”
Her words stuck with me.
That evening, as the sun dipped behind the trees, he and I stood together watching the sky turn gold. He slipped his arm around my waist.
“We’ve started something we can’t stop,” he said.
I nodded. “And we don’t want to.”
He turned to me, his voice low. “Do you ever miss the quiet?”
I thought about the cold nights in the cage, the silence after the fights, the endless stillness of fear.
And I shook my head. “Not for a second.”
Because this noise—the laughter, the footsteps, the clatter of shared lives—it was freedom.
It was life.
And we would protect it. Always.