The Sun cautiously approached Silverpine, slowly breaking over the serene town as a gray-pink haze softly filled the sky, engendering more warmth than what the world needed to bring after the war. There was neither a feeling of triumph nor a feeling of defeat.
Only a quiet aftermath.
With as few clothes on as possible, Mia stood, fully barefoot in the clearing behind the lodge, noticing how the ground still seemed to singe in some areas as flames encircled the blades of grass bent where bodies had once stood, battled, and succumbed. The smoke that once glued itself to the trees dissipated, although the scent of it remained trapped in the soil—a distant recollection of the night when Silverpine decided to hold the line.
Placing a hand on her chest, Mia exhaled through her nose to calm her heart that so far felt steady. Now, it had slowed down. Her wolf slowly began to settle within her, present yet calm.
The rest of the pack began moving behind her, and when one looked at them, one could tell they were not celebrating. Each of them had a particular goal in mind. Scouts began remapping the newly distorted trails of the fight, while the wounded were being approached by others collecting disused totems and weapons. Like clockwork, Ember began coordinating relief shifts, her voice brisk yet gentle.
Lucas came from the west, blood smudged on the collar of his shirt—even though most of it wasn't his. Somehow, he appeared older than usual. Not concerning age, but more to his burden and understanding. A deepening that conflict inflicts upon those who made it out alive, as intact as their conscience.
"You should take it easy," he murmured.
Mia's reaction was a mild shake of her head. "Not right now. When it's quiet inside of me."
Lucas studied her for a long moment. "You didn't kill him."
It was not a question.
"No," she replied. "He planned to either die or win. But losing… he never imagined. Not on his terms."
Lucas slowly nodded his head. "Do you think he'll return?"
"Perhaps," she replied. "But not tonight."
As the clock approached midday, council members didn't arrive by decree, but rather by instinct for the central hall.
Mia stood at the head of the table, her presence no longer met with glances or hesitation. The council was no longer composed solely of elders or military voices. At her right sat Renna, bruised but unshaken. To her left, a scout captain from Glenshadow, whose reinforcements had arrived just before the third wave.
"We held them back," Cade said, glancing over the sand map. "Three breaches, five wounded, no deaths. Ferrowind retreated before pressing into the core."
"They didn't retreat," Mia said in a relaxed tone. "They withdrew. That's not surrender. That's calculation."
The room froze.
Placing a carved stone, an empty token with a neutral shade, on the map, she continued. "They'll return when the narrative suits them. They're not conquerors. They're reformers. Radicals who believe in force before dialogue."
Ember folded her arms. "So what now? We rebuild and wait for them to rewrite their terms?"
"No," Mia said. "But we don't wait. Hunt them, however, is unnecessary."
Vance raised his brows. "Explain."
"It's simple," she walked slowly around the table, taking her time to pick her words. "The goal is to make Silverpine so complete, so balanced, so inclusive… that Ferrowind becomes useless, and without purpose."
Cade let out a low breath. "You want to counter war with policy."
"Identity," Mia corrected. "We won because our pack stood together. Not because they were told to. It's because they chose to. And now we make sure they don't forget why."
No one argued.
Because under fire, they had witnessed what unity looked like.
And they wanted more of it.
The sky was clear now.
Some children who had been hidden away during the raid emerged shyly with guarded looks and curious expressions. Mia knelt beside the boy, who looked no older than seven and was gently tugging her cloak.
"Is the bad man gone?" he asked.
Mia offered the child gentle smiles. "For now, yes."
"Will he come back?"
Mia lightly placed her hand on the child's shoulder and crouched. "Maybe, but we will still be here, together."
The child solemnly nodded and ran back to the other children.
Lucas watched from a distance, his gaze unreadable.
He found her later at the Moonstone Tree, where she was sitting all alone with her journal placed on her lap.
"You've hardly written in that since the summit."
"I thought you'd write more after the summit," he said.
Mia didn't look up but answered. "Now I know what to say."
"And?" he asked while taking steps closer to her.
She turned a page and passed her journal to him.
Lucas read to himself:
"We are neither legends nor chosen. We are wolves who bled and stayed. Who beheld our reflections in shattered laws and chose to create new ones. If that makes us dangerous—so be it."
He closed the book and handed it back. "It makes us real."
Mia nodded. "And that's enough."
________________________________________________________________
That evening, the pack gathered under the trees, not for war or defense, but to remember. Quiet laughter filled the air as a long table laid with food was brought for sharing. It wasn't a feast, it was communion.
Mia chose not to sit at the center.
She walked among them, listening to stories from the young, from the tired, from those who had doubted and now stood renewed. She met every voice with stillness. With witness.
As Lucas walked towards her, the sun was sinking behind the trees.
"You've done more than they expected," he told her.
"I became me when I needed to."
"I become who I needed to be." Lucas, said Mia!
He took her hand.
"And how do you need now?"
She turned her gaze to the stars brimming alive in the dusk.
"Someone who sees the pack I see. Not just in victory, but in becoming."
He smiled then, quiet and warm: "Then we build it together."
And they stood hand in hand beneath the tree which had once watched her sob in silence, and now stood witness to her power.