Pain has a rhythm. Mine pulsed with every heartbeat, every footstep over the uneven trail that cut through the northern woods. But I didn't stop not when the blisters on my soles split open, not when the bandages Kellan wrapped began to bleed through. The pain reminded me I was still alive. And I owed that life a future.
Still, exhaustion bit deeper than silver ever had. I stumbled the next time I tried to climb a mossy incline, falling hard on one knee.
"Enough," I muttered through grit teeth. "You can't save anyone dead."
A cold wind whispered between the trees, mocking me. I forced myself up again, half-dragging my weight toward the flickering glow I'd seen earlier a fire, possibly from a traveler's camp. Or a hunter. Or a trap. I didn't care anymore. Let it be mercy or death. Either would be a change.
I crested the next hill, and the fire came into full view.
A small clearing held a simple camp: a canvas shelter, a dying fire ringed by stones, and three figures. One sat sharpening a dagger, firelight glinting off her hawkish eyes. Another, tall and silent, crouched near a boiling kettle, his silhouette broad as a pine trunk. And the third he stood when he saw me.
He was younger than the others, maybe a year older than Kellan. Tousled dark hair, a worn travel cloak draped over one shoulder, and wary eyes like storm clouds. His hand went to the knife on his belt, but he didn't draw it.
"Who are you?" he asked. "You're bleeding."
I swayed, clutching the tree for balance. "Don't stab me. I'm not here to rob your soup."
The tall man near the kettle finally spoke, voice like gravel. "She's got silver burns."
"She's a wolf," said the woman with the dagger, rising to her feet. Her nostrils flared. "From the south. That stink is Blackwater."
I froze, tensing despite the pain.
The younger man took a step forward. "You're one of Garrick's?"
"I was," I said hoarsely. "Not anymore."
The woman hissed. "That's what they all say before they slit your throat in your sleep."
"Do I look like I could lift a spoon, let alone a blade?" I rasped.
A tense silence stretched between us. I didn't dare speak again. One wrong word could earn me a second exile or worse.
The young man finally nodded. "Let her sit. If she lies, we'll find out."
"Kael," the woman warned.
"I'm not letting her die at our fire, Eira. We're not animals."
Eira snorted. "Speak for yourself."
Kael—his name ringing like a chime in my spinning head offered a steadying hand. I took it, surprised by the warmth in his grip. He guided me to a log near the fire, motioning toward a waterskin. I drank greedily, the coolness cutting through the fire in my throat.
Eira circled me like a hawk. "Name."
"Aurora," I said.
Her brows lifted. "Aurora Thorn? Garrick's fallen Luna?"
That name still felt like a bruise. I nodded.
Kael knelt beside me, his gaze gentler now. "They said you vanished. That you were dead."
"Dead," I said softly, "might have been kinder."
The man at the kettle who introduced himself shortly after as Ruvan passed me a cup of hot broth. He said nothing else, only watched me with the quiet of a man who'd buried too many to waste words.
I sipped slowly, letting the warmth unfurl through my hollowed body. And then, for the first time in years, I allowed myself to do the unthinkable: I slept.
2
When I woke, the fire had burned low, and stars shimmered through the leaf canopy above.
I sat up slowly. My wounds had been redressed. Someone Eira, likely had cleaned and wrapped them with firm, precise hands. A blanket had been draped over my shoulders.
Kael sat nearby, staring into the embers. His eyes slid to mine.
"You talk in your sleep," he said.
I flushed. "What did I say?"
"Mostly just one word: 'ledger.'"
I tensed.
"Relax," he added. "We're not Blackwater spies. That word wouldn't mean anything to someone who wasn't running from something."
I looked down at my hands. "The ledger exposes Garrick's trade in bound wolves. Slavery."
He blinked. "Holy Moon…"
"I got it out," I whispered. "Now I need to get it into the right hands. The Elder Council. Maybe then he'll burn."
Kael leaned forward. "Where is it now?"
"Safe. With someone I trust."
His gaze searched my face. "You're different than I expected."
"People always say that," I said bitterly. "They expect a Luna to be fierce, regal… not crawling into someone else's camp half-dead."
He hesitated. "Maybe… being fierce looks different for everyone."
The words struck a strange chord inside me.
Eira reappeared from the woods, her arms full of dry kindling. She dropped it beside the pit and shot me a look. "We leave at dawn. You keep up, or you stay behind."
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"North," Ruvan said, his voice low. "To the ruined passes of Skarth Hollow. There are whispers of free wolves gathering there rogues, exiles, even witches."
"Witches?" I asked.
Kael nodded. "They say the Hollow holds remnants of the Moon bind. The old ways."
My breath caught.
Once, I'd begged the Moon Goddess to let me shift. I'd waited each full moon with bloodied palms and an aching chest, wondering what sin had cursed me with silence inside. But if the old ways still existed if the bond between wolf and soul could be reforged then maybe I wasn't broken.
Maybe I was just… incomplete.
"I want to come with you," I said quietly.
Eira scoffed. "You've got ash in your lungs and silver in your veins. You'd slow us down."
Kael stood. "She's already survived Garrick. That's more than most. She deserves a chance."
Eira's lip curled, but she said nothing more.
Ruvan handed me a flask. "Drink. You'll need strength."
I took it and made a silent vow.
I wouldn't be a burden. I would heal. I would train. And I would become something Garrick couldn't cage.
Not Luna.
Not Cracked.
But whole.
3
The next days blurred into hard travel and harder lessons.
Ruvan pushed my endurance, forcing me to climb frost-slick ridges and balance on narrow trails while he taught me how to fall without breaking bones. Eira drilled blade work, handing me dulled knives and barking orders until my hands blistered. She never praised, only nodded curtly when I got something right. But I saw it the flicker of respect in her narrowed eyes.
Kael… was different.
He talked with me during breaks, asked about Blackwater, about Kellan, about the moment I chose to run instead of die. And I listened to him in turn. His parents had been burned alive by hunters in the outer territories. He'd fled to the mountains and survived by trapping snow hares and bartering with smugglers.
He wasn't a warrior, not like Eira. Not a survivor of wars like Ruvan. But he had something else a fire that hadn't been snuffed out by tragedy. A warmth that reminded me of the sun I hadn't seen in years.
We sat one night beneath a low-hanging sky, sharing a stolen bottle of elderflower wine he'd found in a ranger's abandoned watchtower.
"You're getting stronger," he said after a moment.
I laughed. "I didn't collapse today. That's hardly victory."
"It is," he said. "When you've known the kind of suffering you have, every breath is."
I turned to look at him. "Do you always see the good in people?"
"Not always," he said. "But I've learned to look for it. Otherwise, what's the point?"
I stared at the stars.
"I used to believe the Goddess had abandoned me," I said. "I begged for my wolf, begged to be like the others. When Garrick stripped my title, I believed I'd failed the divine."
"And now?"
I looked down at my scarred palms.
"Now I think… maybe the Goddess didn't want me to be like the others."
Kael watched me quietly.
"I think," I continued, "she wanted me to become something new."
4
Skarth Hollow came into view on the seventh night: a great ring of stone carved into the mountain's side, dotted with crumbling ruins and flickering fires. Tents scattered across terraces. Wolves in mismatched armor. Humans with rune-covered staves. Broken, desperate people and powerful ones.
We approached under a crescent moon. Ruvan led the way, straight-backed and calm. Eira flanked me, one hand on her dagger.
Kael offered a smile. "Welcome to the edges of the world."
It didn't feel like the end.
It felt like a beginning.