Nova's slow healing smelled of sharp antiseptic and the
gentleness of steelclaw healers deft, eyes threaded with compassion-spreading
salves across her wounds beneath the cave's softened light, where rough stone
walls cast long, uncanny shadows like grasping fingers.
Bruises and lacerations-the scarred map of her
captivity began to fade beneath their care; new skin budded like fragile
blossoms, pink and tender, and with it came a strange vulnerability, as if her
Her body was being reborn while her spirit remained snagged in the dark.
Beneath that mending surface, deeper wounds festered
-psychic scars etched by years of torment, echoes of the traffickers' cruelty
that kept her mind circling fear and despair in an unending loop.
Her omega nature, branded and exploited, haunted her like a
curse, a constant reminder of stolen autonomy that weighed every breath and set
her heart trembling with unspent pain.
The steelclaw stronghold-granite-gray and old-pine
Timber leaned into the mountainside like an unyielding sentinel.
High walls carved with the pack's sigils held the wind's
hollow keening, a whispering warning from the wild itself.
Soft pelts, warm meals fragrant with roasted meat and herbs,
and broad rooms where firelight danced on stone stood in stark contrast to the
damp cells she had known, yet comfort, too, stirred a deeper unease, as if
Beauty might be a mirage.
Silence, once the prelude to pain-whipcrack and cruel
laughter-now carried unsaid threats. She folded into a corner, heart hammering
like hunted prey, body shaking beneath furs that warmed but could not reassure.
A floorboard creaked-harmless noise in an old house under a
careful foot-and her bones jolted, mind flashing to guards entering cells.
A gust rattled the window's misted panes, and she shrank
from sight, as if existing were a danger.
Her honed vigilance turned every long shadow into a captor,
every sound an omen, her body held on the edge of flight- exhausted, sleepless,
a soldier who had fought too long.
Her days balanced on a blade. Freedom to choose what to eat,
where to go—paralyzed her, the habit of obedience erasing the instinct of
self-direction.
Fear of choosing wrongly-of punishment deep as old bruises.
Submission was easier; passivity felt familiar.
Yet a stubborn spark rose from the depths, pushing her to
Reclaim what was lost—a small, bright flame against the encroaching dark.
Lyra? she ventured, searching the quiet for her wolf-soul.
The hearth crackled in answer, a distant comfort.
Then—a faint stir, like a whisper under the fortress hush.
Hope caught in her throat. Perhaps the suppressants were finally loosening
their hold.
Burned into memory: the first cell, cold and stinking of
despair, silver shackles searing her wrists, sedatives choking Lyra's laughter
into silence.
Be strong, Lyra had whispered before ebbing away—a promise
unfinished, now echoing with the thrum of a strength awakening anew.
The rescue-kaelan's golden eyes, explosions tearing open the
Dark had freed her body, but her mind remained captive, spinning with
blood-bright images and broken cries.
Here, in the
stronghold, her fingers traced the scars on her wrists. She clung to the past
even as it cut her. Warrior and wounded, she wavered between fear and the first
trickle of resolve.
Voices drifted from the hall-one healer's tone soft with
patience, another packmate's timbre warm but steady. Nova edged to the doorway
and peered out, heart beating fast with wary curiosity.
The great hall sprawled wide, firelight throwing gold across
stone, woodsmoke, and herbs knitting an atmosphere of safety that still felt
foreign.
A woman with honey-brown hair braided back brought a tray
steaming with meat and herb broth, her smile hesitant but kind, her eyes bright
with understanding—as if she had witnessed many shattered souls and kept faith
anyway.
"You don't have to eat now," the woman said
gently, setting the tray down with careful hands as though laying a fragile
treasure to rest. Patience held in her gaze -The steelclaw Code made manifest.
"I... I'm not hungry," Nova murmured, retreating a
step, dread, and doubt churning-afraid that kindness was the first note of
betrayal.
"That's all right," the woman replied, with compassion
threading her voice.
"Eat when you're ready. No one forces anything here,
child. That is our way."
Her scent-cedar and calm-carried no threat. Warmth moved a
fraction closer, though suspicion still flared, a familiar blaze.
The Code's emphasis on consent lived in the woman's
restraint, in the respect she showed Nova's boundaries - comforting and
unsettling at once.
Kaelan's presence haunted Nova's thoughts, drawing every
path back to him: the steady authority in his gaze softened by a quiet
gentleness, the pine-and-earth of him that both frightened and drew her, a
dangerous whisper of want amid ruins.
Amber-gold eyes held a depth that unsettled her-perhaps a
darkness to match her own—and with it, an attraction she could not deny, a fire
threatening the thin barricade she had built.
A sharp scent of iron and smoke bled in from the courtyard.
The anvil rang like distant thunder, and memory surged: blades in captors'
hands, blood on stone.
Nova flinched; the tray clattered as she stumbled back,
breath ragged. The healer paused, her expression softening with understanding.
"Only the forge," she soothed, setting the tray
aside and taking a seat to give Nova space. "Outfitting the patrols. No
danger here, child. You are safe."
Nova's chest heaved. Shame and fear tangled. "I... I'm
sorry," she whispered, eyes falling. "Everything startles me. I can't
stop it. I can't control it."
"No apologies," the healer said, warmth and
knowing in her eyes.
"You've survived too much. Time will do its work. We're
here to help, not to press. That's the Code-consent and respect."
Nova forced herself to answer—a small victory, a stake
planted for her own voice.
"Thank you," she said, unsteady but sincere. A
thin thread of connection tugged between them.
The healer nodded and withdrew, leaving the tray, leaving
space, leaving behind the soft trace of herbs-a promise of mending. Quietly
settled.
Nova sank to the floor, clutching the soft hides while fire
shadows climbed the walls-warm, yet still a little uncanny. Nightmares gnawed
at sleep; in dreams, chains tightened, and she woke slick with cold sweat.
Eating was a battle-each bite shadowed by fear of scarcity,
stomach knotted with memories of meals torn away.
Yet the steelclaw Code—a promise of choice and regard-held a
small light steady against the dark. She was not a prisoner anymore. A distant
howl cut through the night, sharp and urgent; her body tensed, old terror
tightening its grip.
kaelan's voice rolled from the courtyard-commands to
patrols, firm and assured. Safety and unease tangled - he was a shield, but his
strength could crush. The pack could guard her; the battlefield within was hers
alone.
Nova drew a shaking breath, stood, and stepped toward the
door-unsteady but determined.
Outside, the courtyard glowed with campfire light; shifters
moved with vigilant purpose; woodsmoke and the forest's damp breath mingled
beneath a sky strewn with stars.
The scene mirrored her fragile hope. The summit of healing
lay far ahead, but Steelclaw had opened a path—a pale dawn threading the long
dusk of her trauma.
The howls still sounded, a warning of dangers to come. For
Now, she would fight, scar by scar, anchored by a pack that honored her
choices.
Fear and hope warred within but her resolve did not break.