The mountain stronghold had changed.
Only a few weeks had passed since the siege, but already the scars were fading. New walls rose where rubble had once been. Wolves worked side by side with shifters, hauling heavy beams and stone. The Fae had shaped living roots into braces that ran through the outer walls like veins of green light, binding the rock together.
The air smelled of pine and smoke, a steady rhythm of hammers and saws filling the valley. It wasn't peace exactly—but it was the closest thing anyone had known in years. Children laughed again. Smoke rose from cook fires instead of burning buildings.
Elara walked through the settlement, her boots crunching over gravel and frost. Everywhere she looked, people nodded to her, not out of fear but with quiet respect. She didn't quite know what to do with that.
Riven watched her from the ridge above the forge, arms folded across his chest. The Beta wolves had finished carving new watch towers into the mountain's edge, and a new training yard was nearly complete. He caught himself smiling faintly—something rare for him.
She moved differently now.
More certain, more deliberate.
And the others followed her example without even thinking about it.
Torvee joined him, her foxlike eyes bright in the morning sun. "She's changing the way they see us," she said quietly.
Riven nodded. "She's changing the way they see everything."
---
Inside one of the mountain chambers, the Shifter Elder waited beside a glowing stone table. The old man's skin shimmered faintly with the colours of scales and fur—evidence of too many years spent walking between forms. Torvee stood near the doorway, tail flicking with restless energy.
When Elara entered, the Elder smiled. "You feel it too, don't you? The stillness before movement."
Elara frowned. "The stronghold feels alive again."
"It does," he said, tapping a clawed finger against the table. "But it's also too small. The shifters have always hidden, scattered in small tribes. It's time they come together again. The Moon calls, and they will listen."
Riven stepped into the room, leaning against the stone archway. "You think they'll listen to her?"
The Elder's eyes glinted. "They won't have a choice. Not after what the sky saw that night."
Elara shifted uneasily. "I don't want to command anyone. I just want people to be safe."
The Elder tilted his head. "That's exactly why they'll follow you."
---
Later that day, word spread through the valley—the shifters were gathering for a meeting.
The square below the main hall filled quickly. Wolves stood beside foxes, hawks, and humans who still carried faint marks from the recent battle. The sun dipped low, turning the snow on the ridges a soft gold.
At the centre, the Shifter Elder raised his hands. "Our kind has stayed silent too long. We hid from the ferals, from the vampires, from the world itself. But now the Moon's light reaches further than ever before."
His gaze fell on Elara. "It's time to call our kin home."
Dozens of shifters knelt. Some with wings. Some with fur showing faintly through their skin. They waited, looking to Elara for the words they needed to hear.
She stepped forward slowly, her breath misting in the cold. For a moment, she said nothing. Then—without realising—her voice carried, steady and clear.
"Tell them the Moon rises again," she said. "Tell them to come home."
Her words echoed through the valley like a heartbeat. Silver light rippled from her eyes across the faces around her, faint and soft but impossible to ignore.
The Elder bowed his head. Torvee whispered, "You see? Even her words carry power."
Above them, the first of the winged shifters spread his arms. Feathers shimmered in moonlight. Others shifted to lean wolf or hawk or lynx, ready to run or fly.
Riven gave a single nod. "Go. Find them."
One by one, they departed—launching from the terraces, running down paths that led into the deep forests below. Their howls and cries blended together, rising into the sky.
When the last one vanished into the trees, the valley fell silent again.
---
That evening, torches lit the stronghold like stars scattered along the mountainside. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, carrying the smell of roasting meat and pine sap. Wolves lounged near fires while fae children played tag between the unfinished houses.
Elara stood on the upper terrace beside Riven, looking down over it all. "It doesn't even look like the same place," she said softly.
"It isn't," Riven replied. "The stronghold was built to keep the world out. You've made it into something worth protecting."
Elara smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You make it sound like I had a plan."
He gave a low chuckle. "No one plans a storm. They just survive it—and learn what it changed."
They stood together in silence for a while. Below, the sounds of rebuilding carried upward: hammers, laughter, the low hum of life returning.
Then Riven spoke again, quieter now. "You realise what you did today, don't you? You didn't just send messengers. You called to them. To all of them. That kind of power doesn't fade."
Elara looked up at the moon—pale and round above the peaks. "Then let's hope I'm calling the right ones."
---
Later, as most of the valley slept, the Shifter Elder stepped out onto a high bridge. The night was clear. He could still see streaks of movement far below—shifters racing through the forest like shadows.
He closed his eyes, feeling the pulse of energy still in the air.
It reminded him of something old, something the world had almost forgotten.
"The Lunara rises," he murmured. "And the world remembers."
---
When Elara finally lay down to rest, her dreams were calm for once.
She dreamed of wide forests filled with silver light—of wolves and shifters running side by side, the sky above them glowing softly as though the moon itself was watching.
Far beyond the valley, that light reached out—touching hearts that had long since grown cold.
Somewhere in the ruins of a distant settlement, a shifter woman stopped mid-step and lifted her head to the sky.
A wanderer fae paused beside a frozen river, hearing a call he couldn't explain.
And across the lands, the same words stirred in countless minds.
The Moon rises again.