Chapter 90
{Ryanna’s POV}
The howl that marked our return didn’t rise.
Too many throats were hoarse from mourning.
Nyra and I approached the pack slowly on horseback. What was once a quiet expanse of land had transformed, rows of tents stretched out like markings across the white of snow. Fires crackled low in shielded circles. Wolves moved in silence, some limping, others bandaged, all watching for shadows that hadn’t yet come but could strike at any moment.
The air of death was especially thick due to the cold winds.
For some reason, no one ever saw the snow fall during the war, yet the soil was always densely covered by it.
Nyra exhaled through her nose. “There are more than I expected.”
I nodded. “Every able-bodied wolf we called has come.”
Her brow tightened. “That’s good. But…”
“But it means supplies won’t stretch,” I finished for her.
She turned toward me, face unreadable. “We’re already sharing cloaks. Half the warriors haven’t eaten in two days. If this lasts more than a couple of battles—”
“It won’t.” I faced her. “We planned for this. Redpine, Hollowfang, even defectors from Ilia’s lot. Every house that stood with us sent more than warriors. We took what we could from other war fronts and rationed with the salvaged carts.”
“You think it’ll hold?”
“I think it has to,” I said. “And I’m tired of thinking.”
That silenced her for a beat. Then she smirked faintly. “Good. Thinking too much isn’t good for a young mind.”
I huffed. “Don't start with me, Nyra. You're barely my Elder.”
“I did nothing.” She completed.
Nyra and I walked the pack for a while before we settled on an overturned crate behind one of the healer tents, sharing silence like old friends.
Steam curled from the mugs in our hands. The tea inside tasted bitter. But beggars couldn't be choosers, and it was warm. That counted for something.
“You ever think about what you’d be doing if none of this happened?” she asked, barely hiding the curiosity in her voice.
The question suddenly clicked a realisation in me. She had been the one starting up most, if not all our conversations.
‘Damn, I must come off as such a snub…’
I stared at the tents for a bit: At the scattered warriors, the half-mended wounds, and whole-broken hearts. “All the time.”
“And?”
I took a sip. “I’d have been a smith. Maybe a Nun. Something peaceful.”
“You? Boring?” she smirked.
“Violence isn’t a personality, you know?”
She leaned back, her breath visible in the cold. “I think I’d have been a bard.”
That caught me off guard. “You?”
“Yeah. You know, poems. Lutes. That whole thing.” She strummed an invisible string. “I have the fingers for it.”
“You have the temperament of a rabid animal.”
“Exactly. My art would’ve been legendary.”
I chuckled. It felt like an accident.
“Do you think we’ll ever get there?” she asked.
“To lutes and libraries?”
“To peace.”
I didn’t answer immediately. The air was too honest for lies, too cold for hope.
Finally, I said, “If we do… We’ll be too broken to enjoy it. But only in the beginning. I believe we are… infinitely maleable, so we will come to cherish what we have, as opposed to everything we lost.”
I paused, then completed. “If not for anything else, that is what we're fighting for, no?”
She nodded, sipping her tea. “Then let’s make sure it’s worth the break.”
I didn’t say anything after that.
We just sat.
And waited for the storm we knew was coming.
No one slept that night. Not really.
Some curled near dying fires, staring at the stars like they could bargain with them. Others took turns sharpening blades, inspecting their injuries, and sitting in silence. The children didn’t cry much anymore. Grief had long since silenced most of them.
We knew Aurelius would be on us in less than a day, we said our prayers, and prepared as best we could.
So when the hooves came, no one flinched.
It sounded low. Rhythmic. Like thunder in slow motion.
I stepped out onto the field again, Nyra beside me. She didn’t speak, but I felt the tension in her. In me. In the air itself.
And then I saw him.
For a second I wondered how he was able to advance so quickly, we anticipated it as a worst-case scenario. But still, we had barely settled in for a day and he was already here.
As if she read my mind, Nyra said: “Don't think about it too much. You already bought us enough time.”
“I guess so.”
Aurelius didn’t hide in his hole today.
He rode in like death, dressed in silver and black, mounted atop a war-beast so large the snow parted beneath it. His men — tens of thousands of them — followed in formation, eyes forward, fangs gleaming. Spears and like weapons slanted behind them.
Beside him marched Rohan. Slower now. One arm gone. One eye was covered. Nox did a number on him.
Aurelius shifted as he reached the slope below, his human form rising on the beast. No ceremony. No armor except his blood-stained cloak. His voice carried without effort: “Ryanna Snow of the Rogues,” he called, like a lord greeting peasants. “Bring yourself and the boy forward… and I’ll spare the rest.”
His display was almost amusing. After his slaughter, did he think anyone here had fear left to prey on?
As expected, not a soul answered.
Aurelius smiled, wolfish. “Good. I’ve wanted to kill you all anyway.”
I stepped forward slowly.
Each pace pulled against bruises that hadn’t healed. Every step echoed in my spine. Still, I moved. Still, I stood.
The silence behind me was heavy. But it wasn’t fear.
It was waiting. A longing for the blood of the tyrant before us.
“They’re looking for your orders,” Nyra whispered.
I didn’t glance back. “They already know them.”
Aurelius tilted his head. “Oh? If it isn’t the moon… and the shadow she casts…” His smirk widened. “But wait. Where is the shadow?”
He was addressing Nox.
That hit where he wanted.
But I smiled. “How’s your right hand, Aurelius?”
The words were quiet, but the wind carried their intent to him.
His smile twitched. Rohan’s jaw clenched.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” I continued, voice rising. “Your right hand missing his right hand.”
A few chuckles broke the stillness behind me. They didn’t last. But they were enough.
Rohan snarled, his good hand curling into claws.
Aurelius said nothing.
And I? Continued my advance.
Pain flared through my skin like old wounds coming undone as I shifted. My bones cracked, my fur ripped out of flesh like it hated me. And still, I transformed fully.
When the shift was done, I stood taller. Silver. Scarred. Stained with more blood than any one wolf should be.
Then I howled.
It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t pretty.
It was the haunting sound of war.
My voice carved the sky without hesitation and when it fell silent, I growled low enough to make the earth rumble.
“Oh death,” I fell on my paws, “become my blade once more.”
Nyra stepped forward beside me, fur bristling, eyes lit like a second moon. She didn’t say a word. Her form shifted a second later, and her growl layered over mine like thunder behind lightning.
From the hill behind us, the Snow Pack began to move.
Wolves shifted one by one — not all, not at once — but enough to make the air quiver as eyes gleamed and teeth flashed.
We weren’t ready.
But we were waiting.
Aurelius looked across the field, at the chaos he knew he was responsible for.
Then I saw it—
That flicker of doubt.
It passed in a breath. But it was there.
And it was enough.