(Arielle's POV)
The moon hadn't risen yet, but the sky was dimming — all soft purples and sinking gold. Arielle sat beneath the twisted branches near the training field, her blade balanced across her knees, fingers running slowly across the edge.
It was quiet here.
Too quiet.
The kind of silence that presses against your ribs like an old memory refusing to die.
She didn't look up when footsteps crunched lightly on the path behind her. The scent reached her first — soft herbs and pine.
"Elara," she murmured.
"You always know."
Elara dropped beside her with a small sigh, carrying a pouch of salve and bandages. "I brought this. For your bruises."
Arielle glanced at her arms. Faint purple shadows bloomed along her forearm — trophies from morning training. She hadn't even noticed.
"I'm fine," she said, but took the salve anyway.
Elara watched her in silence, then added, "You push harder than everyone else. You don't need to prove anything."
"I'm not trying to prove anything," Arielle replied, voice calm. "I'm just remembering who I was before they tried to break me."
A beat passed. The wind stirred the trees, cool and light.
Elara lowered her voice. "Where did you go, Arielle? For three years. You just vanished."
Arielle said nothing.
But for a moment — just one heartbeat — her hand faltered on the blade. Her eyes drifted toward the tree line as if remembering something far away. Something cold.
"I went somewhere no one could follow," she said finally.
Elara didn't push. She just whispered, "You came back… different."
Arielle gave a faint smile. "Good. That was the point."
[Later that night]
The packhouse library was empty — most wolves preferred the training field or tavern, not dust-covered shelves and forgotten scrolls. Arielle moved like a ghost through the aisles, her hood drawn, steps soft as shadows.
She found the old archives behind a locked door.
Good thing she'd learned how to pick locks in the rogue territories.
The click was soft. The door creaked open.
Inside, the scent of parchment and old ink filled her nose. She lit a lantern and began scanning titles — family records, territory maps, disputed bloodlines, old council minutes.
She flipped page after page until her fingers stilled.
A name.
One she hadn't heard in years.
One that should've been buried.
Stormblood Treaty – Revoked, Year 203
Her breath caught. "That's… impossible."
The Stormbloods were her ancestors. Her family had sworn loyalty to Blackthorn generations ago — but why had their treaty been revoked?
What had her family done?
She turned the page slowly, but something stopped her.
A mark — faint but visible — at the edge of the parchment. A twisted rune that pulsed faintly in the lantern's glow. Not a council seal. Not anything she recognized.
Her brows furrowed. "This wasn't council-approved," she whispered. "Then who…?"
She reached for the next file, but the slot was empty. Torn at the edges. Recent.
Someone else had found it first.
Her grip on the lantern tightened. She wasn't the only one hunting ghosts.
She barely heard the footsteps until they were close. Too close.
She turned, blade already drawn.
Kael stood in the doorway.
No anger. No expression. Just watching.
"Looking for something?" he asked, voice low.
Arielle didn't lower her blade. "Curiosity. Dangerous thing, isn't it?"
He stepped inside. "You're not just here to train."
"You figured that out all by yourself?"
"Arielle."
She hated how he said her name — like it still belonged to him.
"You left a hole when you disappeared," he said quietly. "And now you're filling it with questions."
"Someone has to," she replied.
There was a beat of silence.
Then he asked, "Why did you come back?"
She looked him in the eyes. "To take back what was stolen."
Kael flinched — barely — but she saw it.
"I didn't steal anything from you."
"No," Arielle said, stepping past him. "You just threw it away."
And then she was gone — cloak whispering against the shelves like a promise left behind.
[Midnight]
Arielle sat on her bed, the ancient document folded tightly in her hand. Her fingers traced the name Stormblood again and again.
Her breath trembled, just once.
She reached beneath the loose floorboard and pulled out a small, worn locket. Inside was a faded drawing — two wolves, one white, one silver. Together.
Her mother's gift.
They buried us. But we were seeds.
She whispered it to herself. A reminder.
Let them wonder why she was back.
Let them whisper.
She didn't come for Kael.
She came for the truth.
And maybe…
For justice.
[To be continued…]