Life without a bond was not painful the way Elara Moonfall had once imagined.
It was quieter than that.
When the bond was first broken, she had expected agony that would tear her apart day after day. She had expected her wolf to rage, to mourn loudly, to fight the emptiness left behind. But as time passed, the pain softened into something far more unsettling.
Silence.
There was no guiding pull in her chest anymore. No instinctive sense of belonging to another soul. No warmth that flared when the moon rose or when danger drew near. The bond had not vanished completely—it lingered like a scar—but it no longer led her anywhere.
She woke alone.
She lived alone.
And slowly, she learned how to exist that way.
Elara built a quiet life in a neutral territory far from dominant packs. Wolves there did not ask about mates or bonds. They did not look at her with pity or curiosity. To them, she was simply a healer with steady hands and a calm presence.
That suited her.
Her days followed a gentle rhythm. She gathered herbs at dawn, treated minor injuries in the afternoons, and spent her evenings reading or watching the moon rise from her small window. It was a peaceful life—stable, predictable, untouched by fate.
And incomplete.
Some nights, when exhaustion pulled her toward sleep, she would reach for something that was no longer there. Her hand would rest briefly against her chest, fingers curling instinctively as if expecting warmth to answer her touch.
Nothing ever did.
Her wolf had changed too.
It no longer pushed against her thoughts or reacted sharply to the world. It observed instead—quiet, cautious, content to exist without longing. Elara sometimes wondered if that was healing… or resignation.
She did not ask.
Wanting had once cost her everything.
Years passed like that, gentle and uneventful, until Elara began to believe that this was all life would ever be. That fate had taken its chance with her and moved on.
Then one evening, as the sun dipped low and shadows stretched long across the ground, a letter arrived.
The seal was unmistakable.
Blackridge.
Elara stared at it for a long time, her breath shallow, the scar of the bond stirring faintly beneath her ribs—just enough to remind her that some connections never truly died.
Life without a bond had taught her how to survive.
But it had never prepared her for what would happen if the past came calling.