The journey took only a day, but it felt longer.
The group moved quickly along the broken road, every sound magnified by the tension in their bones. Behind them, the blackened outline of the stronghold shrank into the distance, its smoke still curling into the sky like a funeral pyre. Ahead, the faint promise of safety: a town whose walls had somehow endured the chaos of the last decade.
The survivors were quiet at first. Children clung to mothers' skirts, men walked with heads low, women carried what little they could salvage on their backs. Their feet slapped the dirt in weary rhythm, a reminder of how little rest they'd had since the attack.
It wasn't long before the ferals came.
The first sighting was little more than a flicker of yellow eyes at the treeline, a shadow slipping between oaks. Then another, closer. A low growl drifted across the underbrush like smoke.
"Eyes sharp," Garrett muttered, his wolf-keen gaze fixed on the forest. "They're testing us."
The humans stiffened, clutching the weapons they had scavenged: rusted blades, makeshift spears, the odd bow strung too loosely. Caleb tightened his grip on his crossbow, his jaw set. Elara walked beside him, her veins prickling with that strange silver burn that always rose when danger lurked nearby.
Then the wolves answered.
Amber shifted first, bones snapping into place with brutal efficiency, her body flowing into fur and muscle. Luke followed, less graceful but no less lethal. They lunged into the trees as a feral darted from the shadows, teeth gnashing, claws tearing at the air.
The fight was swift. Snarls, yelps, the wet crunch of bone. Moments later, Amber returned, her muzzle streaked red. Luke padded close behind, eyes glowing gold, hackles high.
The humans stared, caught between awe and fear.
"They're not just monsters," Torvee said quietly, Jonah perched on her hip. "They're protectors."
Jonah buried his face against her shoulder, but Elara caught the way his small hand clutched tighter, as if holding on to the truth of it.
The pack dispatched three more ferals before dusk, each attempt weaker than the last, the beasts driven off by the strength of wolves who fought with precision, not frenzy. By the time the sun dipped low, the survivors had seen enough to know they owed their lives to the nobles.
Still, fear clung to them as tightly as sweat.
When the walls of the town finally appeared on the horizon—tall stone, patched with timber, torchlight flickering along its ramparts—a murmur spread through the group. Relief, disbelief, dread. For many, it was the first time in years they had seen walls still standing.
"Almost there," Caleb said, his voice flat with exhaustion.
But Riven raised a hand, halting them beneath the cover of the treeline. The open ground stretched wide before the walls, empty and exposed. Watchmen paced along the battlements above, their crossbows glinting in the dying light.
"Not yet," Riven said, his voice carrying through the hush. "We decide here."
The survivors gathered, forming a ragged circle in the shadows. The wolves loomed at the edges, silent sentinels. The fae elders stepped forward, their presence calm but unyielding. Elara stood at the centre, her chest tight, silver sight flickering at the edges of her vision.
Riven's gaze swept the faces before him—humans pale with fatigue, fae uncertain, shifters steady, wolves fierce.
"This is where we part ways," he said, blunt and sure. "Humans: if you wish to return to walls, you may go into the town. Fae: you too may choose. If you stay, our elders will teach you your magic. If you leave, you walk as humans once more. But whether you go or stay, our truth cannot be spoken. Not to them. Not to anyone."
He let the words hang heavy.
"We saved you," he said, voice lower now, but sharper. "All we ask in return is silence. Break it, and you doom us all."
The humans shifted uneasily. Elise bit her lip, glancing at Owen. Heath muttered under his breath. A few clutched their children tighter.
The fae healer stepped forward, her hands calm and open. "If you choose to go," she said gently, "take this blessing. A touch of courage, so you walk without fear."
One by one, those who had decided to leave stepped forward.
The healer clasped their hands in hers. The humans felt only warmth spreading into their skin, a comfort in the cool night. The fae who left shivered faintly, sensitive to the magic that pulsed through the touch, though none understood its purpose.
Elara's silver sight flared.
She saw it clearly: threads of green fire weaving into their auras, stitching them closed like mouths sewn shut. She gasped softly, but no one else seemed to notice. To them, it looked like nothing more than a handshake.
Her stomach twisted. Relief battled with guilt. The secret would be safe—but at what cost?
The choices solidified. Ten humans stepped to one side, eyes fixed on the gates ahead. Three remained with the pack, their faces pale but determined. Of the fae, thirteen moved toward the town, while eight stayed close to the elders, drawn to the promise of guidance.
None of the wolves or shifters moved. Not one.
Jonah pressed his face against Torvee's neck, whispering, "I want to stay with you."
Torvee held him tighter, her eyes wet. "Then you stay," she said simply.
The division was sharp and painful. Tears fell. Words were exchanged—goodbyes, promises, whispered reassurances. Then, with the weight of finality, the group of twenty-three walked out across the moonlit field.
The gates creaked open to receive them. Torchlight painted their backs in orange and gold. For a moment, Elara thought she saw one of them glance back, regret flickering across their face.
Then the gates slammed shut.
Silence pressed down on the survivors left in the trees.
Riven turned to them, his gold eyes hard. "Now we see who chose walls," he said, his voice a growl in the night, "and who chose shadow. From here, we begin."
Elara looked at the closed gates, her veins thrumming with silver light. She couldn't shake the feeling that the moon was watching, weighing, waiting.
Two paths. Two truths. And no way back.