1
Power, I've learned, doesn't echo. It doesn't roar.
It whispers.
And in the quiet corners of camp, it whispered my name with venom and worship alike.
"Luna Aurora."
Some said it with reverence.
Others like they were choking on it.
We had been back from the rogue confrontation for five days. Thirty wolves now camped beneath the tall pines of Hollow fang's borderlands, a temporary home while we cleared the cursed lands of the rogue pack's bones. We hunted together. Trained together. Healed.
But trust… trust lagged behind.
They followed me because I beat Ezekiel.
Not because they believed in me.
Not yet.
2
"Another challenge today," Cailen said, his voice low, eyes narrowed as he watched the training pit.
"Who?"
"Garen. One of Ezekiel's old lieutenants. He's claiming you fight with silver in your tongue, not strength."
My stomach tightened.
Silver words. That's what Garrick used to call my protests when I begged him to stop the punishment rounds for the omegas.
And now someone was echoing it here.
"He wants a fight?" I asked, already moving. "He'll get one."
"Let Vessia do it," Cailen said. "Or me."
But I shook my head.
"They need to see that I'm not afraid to bleed."
3
The pit was half-mud, half-shadow by the time I stepped into it. The entire camp circled. Garen stood shirtless, scars snaking across his chest, eyes hard with doubt. He was tall, built like a boulder, and looked at me like I was a rabbit who forgot how to run.
"You're not an Alpha," he said.
"No," I replied. "I'm something older than that."
He charged.
Claws out, fangs flashing.
I met him head-on. No tricks. No shift. Just the rawness of muscle and memory.
We fought hard heavier strikes than I'd faced even with Ezekiel. He wanted to prove something.
But so did I.
That pain wouldn't shake me.
That I wasn't afraid to lose skin to earn respect.
His claws tore my shoulder.
My elbow cracked his jaw.
He threw me down. I rose again.
He knocked the breath from my lungs. I spit blood and smiled.
Then I struck him with everything I had feral, brutal, fast.
When he finally dropped to one knee, panting, stunned, I pressed my hand to his neck—not to kill.
To show I could.
And then I let go.
He stared up at me, chest heaving, blood dripping from his mouth.
And whispered, "Luna."
4
Later that night, I sat alone in the temporary command tent, my shoulder bandaged, my chest aching from the fight. Cailen entered without knocking, eyes sweeping over me.
"You're insane," he muttered.
"I'm alive."
He came closer and dropped something on the table. A thin silver chain with a charm shaped like a wolf fang.
"What's this?"
"Recognition. From the Hollow fang warriors. You've earned it."
I picked it up, turning it over in my hand. It wasn't much—just a token. But in a world where names and blood determined everything, earning something like this meant more than a crown.
I looked up at him. "Why are you really here?"
He hesitated. "Someone's been stealing from the medicine stores."
My breath caught. "Sabotage?"
"Possibly. And that's not all. One of the scouts overheard a message being passed to a rogue runner someone from your pack."
My heart sank.
"Who?"
He didn't answer.
Because he didn't have to.
We both already knew.
5
Vessia.
She stood in the snow outside the healer's tent, arms crossed, breath misting in the cold air. When she saw me, she didn't flinch.
"You should've come sooner," she said.
"What did you do?"
"I didn't betray you," she said. "But someone did. Someone close."
I stepped closer. "Then give me a name."
"I don't have one. Yet. But I found this."
She handed me a torn piece of parchment, smudged with blood. A symbol was scrawled on it the same serpent emblem that had marked Garrick's private guards.
My hands went cold.
He had agents in my pack.
Even in death, Garrick's poison spread.
"I can root them out," Vessia said. "But you need to give me authority. Officially."
I met her eyes. Fierce. Loyal. Relentless.
And realized what she was really asking for.
Trust.
I nodded. "You'll be my Beta. Effective now."
Her chin lifted. "Then let's tear this rot out together."
6
By morning, Vessia had a list of suspects.
A pattern emerged those who didn't speak unless spoken to, who slipped away at night, who asked questions no survivor should've had the strength to ask. We watched. We waited.
And then, on the third night, we caught him.
Derek.
He was young. Quiet. He'd come in claiming to have escaped Garrick's breeding camps. But the moment he tried to sneak into the healer's stores with a second message tied beneath his boot, we had him.
I confronted him myself.
He snarled. Spat. "He's not dead. Not really. You think you can kill someone like that with rules and speeches?"
"You think he's a god?" I asked.
He sneered. "He's the storm. You're just the thunder before it."
I took no pleasure in it.
But I ordered his exile.
Not death.
Because we were not Garrick.
7
That night, I stood at the edge of the valley, the moon high and full above. The air was bitter. Sharp.
Cailen joined me quietly, as he always did.
"You did the right thing," he said.
"I don't feel right."
He glanced sideways. "Do you ever?"
I laughed—just once. Dry. But real.
"No," I admitted.
He stepped closer. "You're building something, Aurora. But don't forget to live in it too."
Our eyes met.
And something flickered there.
Warmth. Danger. A promise neither of us dared say out loud.
"I don't know how," I whispered.
"You will," he said. "With time."
And then for the first time since my chains broke—I let someone touch me.
Not with ownership.
But with understanding.
His fingers brushed mine.
And I didn't flinch.
8
By the end of the week, we had rebuilt the training pits, established a supply route with Hollow fang, and raised the first crude symbol of our new banner a silver wolf against dark sky.
No name yet.
No laws.
Just belief.
And wolves who had nowhere else to go.
But what I was learning fast was this:
Freedom isn't just given.
It must be defended.
Even from those who wear your colors.
1
Power, I've learned, doesn't echo. It doesn't roar.
It whispers.
And in the quiet corners of camp, it whispered my name with venom and worship alike.
"Luna Aurora."
Some said it with reverence.
Others like they were choking on it.
We had been back from the rogue confrontation for five days. Thirty wolves now camped beneath the tall pines of Hollow fang's borderlands, a temporary home while we cleared the cursed lands of the rogue pack's bones. We hunted together. Trained together. Healed.
But trust… trust lagged behind.
They followed me because I beat Ezekiel.
Not because they believed in me.
Not yet.
2
"Another challenge today," Cailen said, his voice low, eyes narrowed as he watched the training pit.
"Who?"
"Garen. One of Ezekiel's old lieutenants. He's claiming you fight with silver in your tongue, not strength."
My stomach tightened.
Silver words. That's what Garrick used to call my protests when I begged him to stop the punishment rounds for the omegas.
And now someone was echoing it here.
"He wants a fight?" I asked, already moving. "He'll get one."
"Let Vessia do it," Cailen said. "Or me."
But I shook my head.
"They need to see that I'm not afraid to bleed."
3
The pit was half-mud, half-shadow by the time I stepped into it. The entire camp circled. Garen stood shirtless, scars snaking across his chest, eyes hard with doubt. He was tall, built like a boulder, and looked at me like I was a rabbit who forgot how to run.
"You're not an Alpha," he said.
"No," I replied. "I'm something older than that."
He charged.
Claws out, fangs flashing.
I met him head-on. No tricks. No shift. Just the rawness of muscle and memory.
We fought hard heavier strikes than I'd faced even with Ezekiel. He wanted to prove something.
But so did I.
That pain wouldn't shake me.
That I wasn't afraid to lose skin to earn respect.
His claws tore my shoulder.
My elbow cracked his jaw.
He threw me down. I rose again.
He knocked the breath from my lungs. I spit blood and smiled.
Then I struck him with everything I had feral, brutal, fast.
When he finally dropped to one knee, panting, stunned, I pressed my hand to his neck—not to kill.
To show I could.
And then I let go.
He stared up at me, chest heaving, blood dripping from his mouth.
And whispered, "Luna."
4
Later that night, I sat alone in the temporary command tent, my shoulder bandaged, my chest aching from the fight. Cailen entered without knocking, eyes sweeping over me.
"You're insane," he muttered.
"I'm alive."
He came closer and dropped something on the table. A thin silver chain with a charm shaped like a wolf fang.
"What's this?"
"Recognition. From the Hollow fang warriors. You've earned it."
I picked it up, turning it over in my hand. It wasn't much—just a token. But in a world where names and blood determined everything, earning something like this meant more than a crown.
I looked up at him. "Why are you really here?"
He hesitated. "Someone's been stealing from the medicine stores."
My breath caught. "Sabotage?"
"Possibly. And that's not all. One of the scouts overheard a message being passed to a rogue runner someone from your pack."
My heart sank.
"Who?"
He didn't answer.
Because he didn't have to.
We both already knew.
5
Vessia.
She stood in the snow outside the healer's tent, arms crossed, breath misting in the cold air. When she saw me, she didn't flinch.
"You should've come sooner," she said.
"What did you do?"
"I didn't betray you," she said. "But someone did. Someone close."
I stepped closer. "Then give me a name."
"I don't have one. Yet. But I found this."
She handed me a torn piece of parchment, smudged with blood. A symbol was scrawled on it the same serpent emblem that had marked Garrick's private guards.
My hands went cold.
He had agents in my pack.
Even in death, Garrick's poison spread.
"I can root them out," Vessia said. "But you need to give me authority. Officially."
I met her eyes. Fierce. Loyal. Relentless.
And realized what she was really asking for.
Trust.
I nodded. "You'll be my Beta. Effective now."
Her chin lifted. "Then let's tear this rot out together."
6
By morning, Vessia had a list of suspects.
A pattern emerged those who didn't speak unless spoken to, who slipped away at night, who asked questions no survivor should've had the strength to ask. We watched. We waited.
And then, on the third night, we caught him.
Derek.
He was young. Quiet. He'd come in claiming to have escaped Garrick's breeding camps. But the moment he tried to sneak into the healer's stores with a second message tied beneath his boot, we had him.
I confronted him myself.
He snarled. Spat. "He's not dead. Not really. You think you can kill someone like that with rules and speeches?"
"You think he's a god?" I asked.
He sneered. "He's the storm. You're just the thunder before it."
I took no pleasure in it.
But I ordered his exile.
Not death.
Because we were not Garrick.
7
That night, I stood at the edge of the valley, the moon high and full above. The air was bitter. Sharp.
Cailen joined me quietly, as he always did.
"You did the right thing," he said.
"I don't feel right."
He glanced sideways. "Do you ever?"
I laughed—just once. Dry. But real.
"No," I admitted.
He stepped closer. "You're building something, Aurora. But don't forget to live in it too."
Our eyes met.
And something flickered there.
Warmth. Danger. A promise neither of us dared say out loud.
"I don't know how," I whispered.
"You will," he said. "With time."
And then for the first time since my chains broke—I let someone touch me.
Not with ownership.
But with understanding.
His fingers brushed mine.
And I didn't flinch.
8
By the end of the week, we had rebuilt the training pits, established a supply route with Hollow fang, and raised the first crude symbol of our new banner a silver wolf against dark sky.
No name yet.
No laws.
Just belief.
And wolves who had nowhere else to go.
But what I was learning fast was this:
Freedom isn't just given.
It must be defended.
Even from those who wear your colors.