The wind howled over the ridges, carrying the scent of frost and pine. Morning light struggled to pierce through the clouds that hung over the Blackridge fortress, where stone walls met mountain mist like an ancient guardian watching over its kin.
Inside, the council chamber thrummed with restrained tension. Warriors and scouts stood gathered around a table carved from black granite, its surface etched with the ridgelines and borders of the northern packs. The air was sharp with the scent of steel and cold smoke — the aftermath of battle drills that never seemed to end.
Kael Thorn stood at the head of the table, broad-shouldered and silent, his eyes fixed on the map as if willing it to reveal what he already feared. His Beta, Ryden, was the first to speak.
"They've begun conscripting," he said grimly. "Silvercrest is pulling in every male of age — and even a few who aren't. The smithy fires haven't gone cold in days."
Kael's jaw tightened. "You're certain?"
Ryden nodded. "Our spies confirmed it this morning. They're forging weapons — spears, blades, even silver-edged arrows. It's not a border defense, Alpha. It's a war movement."
A low growl rumbled in Kael's chest. The sound echoed faintly through the chamber. "Roran's lost his mind," he said, voice low, dangerous. "There's no reason to attack us. Not unless…"
Ryden hesitated. "Unless he's covering something."
The words hung in the air like a blade. Kael's eyes flicked up sharply, meeting Ryden's. Both men knew what "something" meant.
Elara.
Kael turned away, pacing toward the frost-rimmed window. From this height, he could see the valley below — the training grounds where his wolves sparred, the forest stretching toward the horizon where Silvercrest territory began. She had come from that horizon, half-dead, fevered, trembling in his arms. He could still feel the weight of her when he carried her into the healer's hall, the way her pulse had fluttered like a trapped bird.
And now that same pack that had thrown her away was preparing for war.
"Send word to the patrols," Kael said at last, his tone steel. "Double the watches on the border. No one crosses without my word."
Before Ryden could respond, the doors to the chamber opened.
Elara stood there, pale but steady on her feet. She had been resting for days, still weak from the cold and the exhaustion that had hollowed her eyes. Her hair was loose, falling like shadows over her shoulders, and though she wore one of the healer's cloaks, she looked small in the vast doorway — small, but unbroken.
Kael turned instantly, his expression shifting from command to concern. "You shouldn't be up," he said. "You need rest."
"I've rested enough," Elara replied quietly. Her gaze flicked to the map — the one spread before the warriors, inked with boundary lines and blood-colored markings. "I heard."
The room went still. The murmuring warriors bowed their heads slightly, sensing the storm gathering between their Alpha and the woman who had once belonged to their enemy.
"You shouldn't concern yourself with this," Kael said, tone gentler now.
But Elara took a step forward. "How can I not?" Her voice trembled, not with fear, but with the weight of memory. "Those are my people."
Ryden exchanged a wary glance with Kael. "Your people are arming themselves to destroy ours," he said.
She shook her head. "No. That's not the Silvercrest I know. Alpha Roran wouldn't—" She stopped, the words faltering. She knew what he would do. Roran was proud, stubborn, and haunted by ghosts of old rivalries.
Kael's gaze softened, but his tone remained unyielding. "Elara, I cannot ignore a threat. If Roran marches on Blackridge, I'll have no choice but to meet him in kind."
"Then let me go to him!" she burst out, stepping closer. "Please, Kael. Let me speak to him. He'll listen—he has to."
"No," Kael said sharply. His voice echoed like thunder in the hall. "You'd be walking into a den that already cast you out. If he finds out where you are—if he even suspects—you'll never make it back."
Her eyes flashed with desperation. "Then what, Kael? You'll lead your warriors to slaughter mine? To kill wolves who have no idea why they're fighting? They'll follow Roran's orders because they're afraid, not because they want war!"
The silence that followed cut deeper than any blade. Kael stared at her — this woman who had suffered under the cruelty of her own pack, who still somehow found the strength to defend them.
"Elara…" His voice dropped, rough and raw. "Do you truly believe they'd show you the same mercy?"
Her throat tightened. "I don't care. I won't be the reason more blood is spilled."
Ryden took a cautious step forward. "Alpha, she might have a point. If Silvercrest doesn't know we've taken her in, they might be acting out of fear or rumor. Perhaps if we—"
Kael silenced him with a glance, then turned back to Elara. He crossed the distance between them slowly, until he stood just a breath away.
"You think I want this?" he said quietly. "You think I'm eager to lead my wolves into another war? I've buried too many already, Elara. But I will not let my pack bleed because another Alpha's pride cannot bear his own failure."
Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she stood her ground. "And if pride starts this war, will you let it end the same way?"
For a heartbeat, Kael said nothing. Then he turned away, hands clenched at his sides. "You're asking me to risk every life under my care," he said, voice rough. "To do nothing while Roran sharpens his claws."
"I'm asking you to believe that not everyone in Silvercrest is your enemy," she whispered.
The chamber fell quiet again — the kind of silence that carried more truth than any argument. Outside, the wind roared through the mountains, scattering flakes of frost across the windows like tiny, fleeting stars.
At last, Kael spoke. "Ryden," he said, his tone resigned. "Hold our lines. But no strikes. Not yet."
Ryden blinked in surprise. "Alpha?"
"Not until I say otherwise," Kael repeated. Then, more softly, "Not while there's still a chance."
Elara let out a shaky breath, relief flickering across her face. Kael looked at her again — really looked — and for the first time since the news had come, the fury in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something quieter.
A promise. A dangerous one.
Because Kael Thorn was not a man who bent easily — and if he was bending now, it was only for her.
But even as he gave her that small mercy, a dark thought stirred in the back of his mind.
If Silvercrest crossed the border, no plea — not even hers — would stop the storm that followed.